


Little Hidden One

by Spin_a_tale_for_the_world



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Ori, F/M, Female Bilbo, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 34,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spin_a_tale_for_the_world/pseuds/Spin_a_tale_for_the_world
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is well known that there is nothing so cherished in the dwarven race as their children. However, as in all races there are exceptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Arrival in the Shire

Bilbo Baggins walked slowly next to the cart that carried her mother, Belladona, down the road from Bree, every so often glancing at the flowers that grew sporadically on the side of the road. She took after her mother in looks, especially with the long curly brown hair that she usually wore in braided bun to keep it out of the way. Though she was never without a multitude of rebellious  strands that fought to tickle her cheeks no matter how many pins she tried to tame them with.

                “Bilbo,” her father, Bungo, called quietly to get her attention and Bilbo turned to look at him with the pale, green-gray eyes that he often compared to his own mother’s, never mind his own.

                “You should pick some for your mother,” her father told her quietly from the box of the carriage, “They might make her feel better.” Bilbo grinned at the idea and race off, acting more like a fauntling than a hobbit merely two years from her majority. The small family had traveled to Bree to get various metal tools fixed by the blacksmith, as Hobbiton’s had died when Bilbo was around ten and no one else had shown an interest in the trade. Unfortunately the trip had proven to be too much for Belladona, who had just recently overcome a rather nasty illness that had kept the normally active hobbit confined to her room. She gathered a small bunch of the small white flowers from the edge of the road before venturing towards the tree line.

                “Don’t go too far Bilbo,” Bungo called.

                “I’ll walk along side,” Bilbo said with a wave and wandered just behind the first group of trees where flowers grew more prominently, away from the dangers of the crushing wheels of passing carts. She was so distracted by finding the most beautiful flowers for her mother that she almost missed the crashing of footsteps coming from deeper in the forest, the ones that seemed to be heading right for her.  Seconds before she could cry out for her father, a young dwarf stumbled into the small clearing she’d found for herself. At least Bilbo thought it was a dwarf, she was relying mostly on the knowledge she’d pulled from books to help her identify the creature that was staring at her with a dumbfounded expression.  From what Bilbo could tell, which wasn’t much, he looked to be the dwarven equivalent of her own age and Bilbo wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised at the sudden appearance of the other, but from the way the dwarf was fearfully clutching the small bundle of cloth to his chest, Bilbo assumed he was.  He had copper hair that had been artfully braided away from his face until there were three plaits leading from the edge of his face that gathered into one long seven strand braid and just the beginnings of a beard coming in.

                A sudden cry from within the bundle startled both of them and the dwarf actually jumped back a few feet, before he scrambled forward again.

                “You’re a hobbit,” he stated distracting Bilbo from her curiosity toward the contents of the bundle, and though Bilbo knew she should probably be much more afraid than she was, she nodded and curtsied.

                “Bilbo Baggins,” she told him politely, proud that her voice barely waivered, “at your service.”

                “I’ve been told your people would never turn away one in need. Is that true?” He looked so desperate that Bilbo couldn’t answer for a moment, and wasn’t even put off by him refusing to give her his name in return, collecting herself only when she saw his hopeful expression start to fall.

                “It certainly is for the Baggins family,” she told him primly, secretly delighting in the wide beaming smile she got in return before his face became solemn once again.

                “I must ask a great deal of you Mistress Baggins,” he told her gravely, and though he hadn’t drawn the weapon  Bilbo felt her heart speed up at the very real possibility of danger. However, the young dwarf didn’t draw his weapon like she expected and instead peeled away the top layer of the bundle. Bilbo gasped and cooed when a tiny infant dwarf with ginger hair was revealed, “I need a safe place to hide him.” Bilbo looked up in confusion, unsure as to what could possibly be a danger to such a small and unthreatening thing.

                “Whatever for?” She asked him and the dwarf sighed, suddenly looking much older than Bilbo suspected his age to be.

                “My Uncle is the eldest son of his line,” he told her, “and as such is entitled to inherit a title and sizable fortune after his father’s death. My father is the younger son and will receive a mere pittance, which he was content with at first as my uncle had no children placing my father second in succession. I firmly believe now that my father has always planned to orchestrate an accident for his brother, but a few years ago my uncle married and only a few months ago my aunt and uncle were blessed with this little one.” He looked down at the baby with such adoration and love that Bilbo might have thought they were at least brothers at the least had she not heard the truth already, but instead she felt her stomach turn at the implication his words had.

                “Something happened to his parents, didn’t it,” she asked hesitantly. She wasn’t positive that the child was a boy, but she refused to call a baby it, even in her mind. The dwarf nodded grimly and opened his mouth to continue his tale, only to snap his jaws shut and lower himself into a protective crouch at Bungo’s concerned call.

                “Bilbo!”

                “It’s alright,” she hurried to assure the dwarf, who only relaxed moderately, “It’s only my father. I swear he wouldn’t do anything to harm either of you.” At the dwarf’s hesitant nod, she answered her near panicking father.

                “Over her papa,” she called, waiting for the moment Bungo would break through the thin underbrush. When he did, he immediately stiffened upon seeing the unknown, and armed, dwarf so close to his daughter. Bilbo could see Bungo’s eyes darting around for the nearest escape route he could drag her too and hurried to assure him, “He needs our help.” Bungo moved closer, hesitantly, and calmed a little when his eyes lit upon the now squirming infant in the dwarf’s arms. At the gentlehobbit’s encouraging nod , the dwarf resumed his tale.

                “I failed to save my aunt and uncle,” he told her, pain evident in his eyes, “my father made it appear as if our party was set upon by Orcs, but told me to take him away since an Orc would never pass on a feast of newborn flesh. There’s no way to conceal him for the final leg of our journey, and even if there was, my father would only find some way to murder him in his cradle. ” The bitterness and hate in his voice made the two hobbits wince, and sympathy to grow in their hearts. Without thinking to confer with her father, Bilbo stepped forward and held out her arms for the tearing dwarf. He just stared at her for a moment, looking very much like a lost little boy, before his crumpled into her arms and wept. Bilbo shushed him as best she could and glanced at her father, who headed back to the cart with a decisive nod.

                “If he needs a safe home,” he whispered to the sobbing dwarf, “he’s found it with us.” The dwarf pulled away to look at her with shining eyes and quickly dropped his eyes, humbled by the pure kindness he saw there. Bungo appeared a moment later carrying a fresh blanket.

                “We certainly have the room,” he told the dwarf, “and your mother’s already in a tizzy about having her first grandbaby.” Bilbo giggled at the idea of her mother in a tizzy, but her father’s words certainly had an impact on the dwarf. His breath audibly caught and he placed a lingering kiss on the child’s forehead before he reluctantly placed him in Bilbo’s waiting arms. The boy, a fact that was made abundantly clear when he decided that releasing his bladder was a good way to greet his new mother, looked up at Bilbo with large, lovely brown eyes and smiled. Bilbo was instantly smitten with her new son and only vaguely heard what the dwarf was telling her father.

                “I saved this,” he said, handing Bungo a large silver pendant and chain, “It belonged to his mother, so he can find the rest of his family should he ever choose.”

                “We’ll make sure he knows where he came from,” Bungo swore as he tucked the exquisite piece of jewelry safely into his pocket.

                “What’s his name?” Bilbo whispered without taking her eyes away from the child in her arms, smiling softly when he reached for the flyaway curls surrounding her face. The dwarf smiled at the sight.

                “Ori,” he told her, “Son of Ri.”


	2. A Red Sun Rises

                Thorin Oakenshield, former heir to the greatest dwarf kingdom on Middle Earth and now King of the Blue Mountain Empire watched as the Rí brothers waited at the gate for the caravan that was already three days late.

               "They've been there for at least an hour every dawn and dusk for the last two days," Frerin told him as he came to stand beside the king on the balcony.

               “Wouldn’t you if it were Dis?” Thorin asked, “Or Father? Mother?” Frerin ignored the question and simply continued to stare at the fretting brothers below.

               “Dis said something went wrong with the caravan,” he told the king after a few moments of silence, “You know she’s never wrong.”

               “Let us hope this time she is,” Thorin replied, though he didn’t believe it himself. He knew better than to dismiss their sister’s vague premonitions, as it had been one of his mother’s that had protected the children of Erebor when the dragon came. The Crown Princess had felt that something was coming and had begged Thrór and her husband, Thrain, to prepare, but they waved her off in favor of the gold that had gathered in the treasury over centuries. Determined not to be ignored, and save as many as she could, she gathered as many of the dwarrowdams and dwarflings as she could and told them to be prepared to evacuate to the forest on the moment she gave the signal. The power of foresight had long belonged to the Istari and the elves, but the people of Erebor had heard tale of the powers that flowed through the women of Fris’ line and did as she asked.

                The morning the dragon laid waste to Erebor, Fris felt a harsh band a fear twist around her heart and she signaled the dwarrowdams. Erebor had never seen a march like the one Fris led out of the mountain that day, and once she’d gotten her people to safety she went back for her family. Thorin had been on the battlements with Balin when the dragon descended upon the mountain, incinerating the warriors who stood by the pair and were not fast enough to get out of the way of the searing flames, so he did not see his mother fall as she protected her youngest children. It wasn’t until he was dragging his grandfather away from the infested treasury that he came across his mother’s crumpled body, crushed beneath debris.  He hadn’t realized he’d fallen to his knees until he felt his father drag him out of the way of a large chunk of falling stone and propelling him out of the crushed gates.

                Thorin forcefully pulled himself out of memories that threatened to consume him and turned to look at Frerin. His little brother was staring off into the distance beyond the gate and only looked back up when Thorin bumped their shoulders together.

                “You are troubled,” Thorin observed, “By something other than concern for the caravan.” Frerin had opened his mouth to snip out a smart reply, but snapped his mouth shut at his brother’s specification, his face falling back to its contemplative focus.

                “Dis waited for you the same when you left for Moria,” Frerin told him as he turned his attention back to the aching family at the gate. Thorin sighed as he was once again drawn into memories he would much rather put behind him, hoping his brother would not continue any further.

                “Why wasn’t I at [Azanulbizar](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehrdL9394u8)?” Frerin asked him quietly, shocking Thorin with the question. He’d expected some questions about the battle it’s self, but not Frerin’s role. Frerin had never appeared to be anything other than relieved when their father had told him to lead the people while the rest of them marched off to face down the Orcs of Moria. To have him question the decision for the first time nearly twenty years later was shocking, “I know I was still two years from majority, but grandfather wanted me to go, until you convinced him otherwise. Dis told you to make me stay behind, didn’t she?”

                Thorin sighed again and clutched almost desperately at the stone railing in front of him as memories assaulted his mind once again. The Battle of [Azanulbizar](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehrdL9394u8) had been an unmitigated disaster, leading to the deaths of hundreds of dwarven deaths including King Thror and possibly their father Thrain. Thorin had been thrust from the battle field to the throne on the same day, still coated in the blood of allies and enemies alike, all when he had barely passed his coming of age.

                “You have never asked this before now,” Throin said with a slight frown, “in nearly twenty years. Why now?”

                “If you tell me it was Dis,” Frerin told him, “maybe I won’t wonder if you just didn’t think I was good enough.” Thorin immediately embraced his brother, the physical gesture something he only did with his closest family. When he pulled back he made sure he could look his brother dead in the eye.

                “You would have fought bravely,” Thorin told him firmly, “and you would have fallen the same, but you would have fallen.” The unspoken confirmation of his suspicions made the younger prince sag in relief. Thorin silently wondered how long Frerin had held onto that warped view of event and vowed to pay closer attention to his brother’s state of mind, “Go play with our nephews.” Frerin smiled at the suggestion of playing with their sister’s young sons, but any response was drowned out by shouting at the gates. King and Prince turned their attention to the commotion in time to see the Ri brothers rush the single cart that enter the lowest level of the city. Dwalin, Son of Fundin, head of Erid Luin’s City Guard and Thorin’s closest friend, lifted his head to meet the King’s gaze and sadly shook his head. The head guard’s pronouncement was strengthened by a wretched cry ripped from the oldest Rí brother as he peeled back the blanket covering the bodies of his mother and her husband.

                When Thorin reached the courtyard, the Rí brothers were clutching each other as they wept and Thorin instructed a following servant to see them to a private room for them to grieve. The servant, unfortunately all too familiar with the grieving family, kindly herded the brokenhearted pair away from the group of men who were going to have to move their mother’s body while Frerin offered the condolences of the royal family. Dwalin waited for the king to arrive before moving towards the cart.

                “What happened?” Thorin asked as he crouched down to draw the covers back once again to expose the bodies for examination. Lady Rí and her husband both had their throats slit so deeply that it looked more akin to a decapitation and Dwalin swore when the mutilation so often attributed to Orc kills was revealed. Even Thorin, a seasoned warrior, was forced to turn away from the stomach churning sight.

                “Orcs,” Dwalin spat unnecessarily, his hands grasping his axes Ukhalt and Umraz with nearly white knuckles. Thorin snarled at the idea of any of his race coming in contact with something as vile as orcs, especially one as rare as a dwarrowdam. While Thorin’s mother had saved the majority of the dwarrowdams that had inhabited Erebor, they were still only born one in three and were to be treasured second only to the children they brought into the world.  Taking a care to honor the dead, he replaced the sheet with the proper amount of respect and gravitas and stood to see two travel dusted dwarves dismounting from their ponies.

                “They traveled with the caravan?” He asked earning a harsh nod from Dwalin, “And yet they remain unharmed.”

                “Fíur, his brother lies beside Lady Rí as her husband,” Dwalin told him, “and his son Kír. Fíur claims they were scouting ahead while the others broke camp, and returned to find everyone slaughtered.” Frerin snorted in disbelief as he watched the dwarf in question brush his clothes off without even a glance towards the cart that carried his late brother on his final journey to Ered Luin. Kír, however, seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the cart and the bodies that were laid beside it.

                “The babe!” Dori’s near scream had every dwarrow in the area spinning around to looked for the nearest threat. The distraught son made it within a few feet of the king before a few guards managed to stop him, but Thorin waved them away.

                “What babe?” he asked, his first instinct to protect any child that could be in danger. Dori took a few deep breaths and clutched the man he called king.

                “Mother was carrying her third child when she wrote to us,” Dori told him and Dwalin immediately began to search the cart for any sign of a newborn dwarfling, “The child would have been born a few months ago.”

                “Thorin,” Dwalin hollared, holding up knitted baby blanket, “The child was with them.”

                “Ori.” The whisper was just loud enough for the small group to hear and they looked over at the young dwarf with copper hair that had been artfully braided away from his face until there were three plaits leading from the edges of his face that gathered into one long seven strand braid, “She named him Ori and he-.”

                “He’s dead,” Fíer interrupted his son as he walked over to to stand in front of the king, barely sparing a glance at the dwarf who’s world he was crushing for the second time that day, “Orcs would never pass up the promise of a meal made from newborn flesh.” With a weak cry, Ori’s oldest brother collapsed to the floor to weep for the infant brother he would never know. Thorin glared at Fíer, who he was now convinced had something to do with the death of his own kin, and laid what he hoped was a comforting hand on Dori’s shoulder, only relinquishing his hold when the same servant as before ushered the dwarrow back to his brother.

                “A little more compassion would not have been amiss in delivering such news,” Thorin nearly growled at the soon to be dwarf lord. The high born dwarf waved an uncaring hand in the direction of the retreating brothers.

                “My apologies if the news disturbed you Your Majesty,”  Fíer replied with a bow aimed at currying favor with those with a station higher than his own, though it had little effect on Thorin, “but-.”

                “If news of a murdered dwarfling  does’na affect ye,” Dwalin snarled, “Yer heart’s harder than any stone Mahal’s made.”

                “Low born dwarves are bred for dying,” Fíer sneered without looking at what he considered to be an inferior member of his race, unknowingly nearly meeting Dwalin’s axes personally. A sharp look from Thorin halted him, but Dwalin kept the axes in hand as he muttered darkly.

                “Lower born they may be, but they are my kin,” Thorin told the other noble blooded dwarf harshly and watched as his face paled at the information, “and I will have them treated as such.” The dwarf stumbled over his words as he scrambled to cover his misstep, but Thorin was in no mood to listen to him babble and signaled for another servant to find them lodgings for the night. Frerin approached his older brother as the Father and son followed the white bearded dwarf assigned to their care, a dark look covering his normally cheery features.

                “What did you glean from them?” Thorin asked. His brother was well versed in seeing what others could not when it came to unspoken clues given off by the body and it had often come in handy during interrogations, especially when people were unaware of his abilities.

                “Fíer is hiding something,” Frerin told him bluntly, “He appeared more a detached messenger than bereaved brother, and when his son spoke the babe’s name, he tensed. He bares watching.” Thorin nodded, though he kept his gaze glued to the retreating forms of the suspect dwarrows.

                “And Kír?” Frerin frowned at his brothers question and ran his hands through his hair, careful to avoid catching the braids that littered his hair.

                “He’s certainly hiding something, but I do not believe it sinister,” Frerin told him, “There was a small wince whenever someone mentioned the babe and he kept looking down at his arms as if he expected something to be there. He will break before his father ever will. If this attack was a kin killing, than I do not believe the boy to be a willing participant.”

                “It would have been about gold,” Thorin nearly whispered, “Dwarves of Fíer’s ilk feel nothing for anything that is not cold and glittering. The child is surely as dead as his parents, disposed of in  way that would bring credibility to the tale of an orc attack.”

                “They’ll be watched,” Dwalin growled “I can promise ye that.”


	3. Baking Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm messing with the ages a bit to make it fit in the story. The ages most likely do not fit with Tolkin, mostly because I tried to make it fit and gave up when I got frustrated. Here's my take on the ages.
> 
>  
> 
> • Thorin- 66 (roughly 25 human)  
> • Frerin- 58 (roughly 23 human)  
> • Dis-54 (roughly 21 human)  
> • Fili- 13 (roughly 5 human)  
> • Kili- 7 (roughly 3 human)  
> • Balin-97 (roughly 40 human)  
> • Dwalin-87 (roughly 33 human)  
> • Dori- 77 (roughly 28 human)  
> • Nori- 70 (roughly 24 human)  
> • Ori- 6 (roughly 2 human)  
> • Bilbo- 47(roughly 22 human) 
> 
> Hobbits age at nearly the same rate as dwarves and have the same life span. Dwarves still come of age at 40 and Hobbits at 33.

Chapter 3

                Bilbo diligently tended the gardens of her parent’s graves, while keeping a close eye on her six year old dwarven son who was playing silently a few feet away from her.

                “Take care Ori,” Bella called when it looked like the small boy was considering toddling further away from her than normal, “He’s grown so much.” For obvious reasons Bilbo didn’t actually expect an answer from her parents, but that didn’t stop her from talking to them anyway.  Properly chastised, Ori toddled over to his mother and plopped down into her lap, blinking sleepily.

                “Hi Gama. Hi Gampa,” Ori said with a drowsy wave in the direction of the flower covered mounds. He didn’t remember much about the hobbit he called grandma as she had passed away before he was old enough to form true lasting memories, and Bilbo knew the few memories he had of his grandfather would quickly fade away. Belladona had never truly recovered from the sicknesses she’d gotten after miscarrying her second child roughly a year before Bilbo came of age, and passed away shortly after her grandson’s fourth birthday. Bungo had been crushed by the death of his wife, but he held on to life stubbornly for his daughter and new grandson where most hobbits would begin to fade. He and Bilbo had opened a small bakery and sweet shop using some of Belladona’s secret recipes to keep the memory of her close. The familiar smells that filled the bakery on a daily basis had done wonders for Bungo’s melancholy, but the Fell winter caught all of Hobbiton unawares and Bungo had died protecting an adventurous fauntling from hungry wolves. Half a year later, and Bilbo still woke up every morning expecting to find her father cooking away in the kitchen with a hungry Ori kicking happily in the highchair Bungo had made for him.

                “The sweet shop is doing well,” she told her father, “It keeps me busy and I love it, but it’s not the same without you.” Bilbo looked down when Ori tugged on her sleeve.

                “Hungry Mama,” Ori told her, still holding tightly to his favorite blanket, and snuggled back into her hold. Bilbo sighed, knowing they had already stayed longer than usual and she needed to feed her boy.

                “Alright my little love,” Bilbo told him, placing a small kiss on his fuzzy head, “Let’s get you some breakfast.” She hefted the toddler onto her hip as he cheered and waved his arms excitedly. With a soft chuckle, Bilbo guided his arms around her neck and started down the path towards the market and her shop.

The Baggins Sweet Shop started off relatively small, with hobbits stopping in to buy a quick snack or pick up their orders, but in the year before he died, Bingo added a few benches and tables for people to linger. It had helped Bilbo deal with the sudden and nearly overwhelming loneliness at the loss of her final parent, and it slowly became normal for more than a few hobbits to take their tea in her little shop.

Bilbo slid another loaf of fresh bread out of the stone oven with a large wooden paddle and turned around, while keeping a close eye on Ori, to set it on the cooling rack. Bilbo preferred to take her ledgers home at the end of every day, so she had turned the small office into a play room for Ori with a gate in place of the door.

"Good Morning," an unfamiliar male voice said from behind the counter as she was pulling out a tray of raspberry cookies. In her surprise she very nearly dropped the hot tray and quickly set it down to press a hand to her racing heart.

"Goodness," Bilbo breathed out as she turned to look at her unexpected customer, "I really need to replace that bell above the door." Bilbo faltered momentarily when she realized that the customer was an older dwarf and quickly glanced to make sure Ori was hidden well enough. There was a younger dwarf behind him with hair that was curled up into elaborate braids and was beginning to grey. There was a certain sadness about him that spoke of an old, but not forgotten, pain and Bilbo felt a certain kinship with him.

"It would make for a little less excitement, "the first dwarf told her, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Balin son of Fundin, and this is my husband Dori son of Ri." Both dwarves bowed at the end of Balin's introduction, and missed the sudden whiteness to Bilbo's face. After a quick glance at Ori to make sure he was safely out of sight, Bilbo gathered herself and greeted her new customers. 

"Good morning Master Balin, Master Dori," she said with a nod to each dwarf, "How can I serve you today?"

"Well my dear," Balin said, reminding Bilbo very much of her grandfather, "The Thain sent some of your wonderful raspberry and lemon cookies as a gift for our new year and the king's brother is now demanding some for his name day celebration."

"Refused to let anyone but the young princes have more than one," Dori grumbled, which made his husband grin at him. Bilbo blushed at the praise and busied herself with pulling out another batch of dough to knead once the pair had finished their errand.

"We were instructed by the king-" Balin was interrupted by a loud crash and the startled crying of a toddler. Ignoring her initial urge to hide Ori away and raced to save him, only to giggle when she found him unhurt. The toddler had managed to upend a bowl of flour someone had left on the built in desk. A very dusty Ori stood sniveling in the middle of a ring of the white powder and held his arms out almost desperately for his mother. Bilbo laughed and snatched up a nearby hand rag to dust off some of the flour before settling the children onto her hip.

"What did you do?" Bilbo asked with a chuckle as she walked back out into the main room. Ori answered with an incoherent stream of sob babble, complete with wild gestures,  that Bilbo didn't even attempt to translate. Instead she just did her best to shush and comfort the boy with the promise of a bath. A male chuckle reminded Bilbo and she very nearly froze again when she realized that she'd brought her in hiding child in front of two members of the race that tried to kill him. Bilbo looks up to see Balin and Dori smiling softly at the small child in her arms, and Bilbo felt some of her tension ease. Ori on the other hand suddenly became incredibly shy and hid his dirty face in Bilbo's neck.

"Is he alright?" Dori asked in concern, only letting his shoulders relax again when Bilbo nodded.

"He knocked over a bowl of flour and startled himself," Bilbo assured them, "That's all." During the conversation, Ori had gained a little bit of his courage back and was peeking at their guests, who waved kindly at him. Bilbo could see the rekindled heartache in Dori’s eyes grow and couldn’t stop herself from prying, for the sake of her son.

“Do you two have any children Master Dori?” She asked as politely as she could, she knew it was common for Hobbits to take in orphaned fauntlings, even if the family wasn’t kin to the child, but had no knowledge as to the dwarvish outlook on the practice. Dori shook his head sadly and Bilbo once again felt for the poor dwarf who must have suffered so much after the passing of his mother and the supposed death of an infant brother.

“No,” Dori told her sadly, “We have not had the opportunity. Dwarflings are very precious to us, but also very rare. Every birth is celebrated and every death mourned.” Dori deflated even more at the mention of even a hypothetical child’s death and Balin put a comforting hand on his husband’s arm.

“I am sorry givashel,” Balin muttered to him, just loud enough for Bilbo to hear the unfamiliar word and instantly regret her question.

“My apologies,” Bilbo quickly said, “I should not have pried.” Dori held up a hand to stall any further arguments and visibly composed himself.

“It’s alright,” he said kindly, “Any time a dwarfling is orphaned, there is a search for any surviving family and only then would an outside family be given the option. We are first on the list, but any family member, no matter how distant, would never turn away a child.” Dori had stepped closer to the counter as he spoke, wistful eyes locked on Ori, but it wasn’t in a way that made Bilbo at all anxious. It appeared more as someone who desperately wished for a child of their own. Carefully Bilbo set Ori on the counter so Dori could keep Ori entertained while she talked to Balin, but close enough that she could snatch him up if she needed to. Dori looked hesitantly at Bilbo for a moment before he turned his attention to the still somewhat shy child. Bilbo wasn’t incredibly worried about the pair recognizing Ori as a dwarf, since he was entirely covered in flour and Ori was still in a phase where he insisted on wearing a large knitted scarf that very nearly covered his chin. Bilbo didn’t think she’d ever been so happy that Lobelia had made it for him.

“He’s a lovely boy,” Balin told her when she turned her attention to him, “You and your husband must be very proud.” Balin frowned a little when Bilbo shook her head.

“I’m not married,” Bilbo told him, but hurried to explain when Balin looked even more confused, “My parents took him in when he lost his parents only a few months after he was born, but my mother was ill and I became his mother by default. Now he’s all I have left.”

“I am sorry,” Balin told her sympathetically, making Bilbo smile softly and nod in response.

“Now,” Bilbo said, “How can I help you with a demanding prince.” Balin roared with laughter and began to dictate his order to the young hobbit lass.


	4. A King's Burden

"And you're sure the lad is dwarf born?" Thorin asked the couple that had just returned from an errand in the Shire. Thorin had dismissed everyone but his brother and his personal guard, Dwalin, when the couple had asked for a private meeting. Balin shrugged and Dori shifted his weight from side to side. 

"Interbreeding between hobbits and dwarrow are not unheard of,” Balin admitted, “but with the nose on that boy, I would say he is pure dwarf.”

“And what makes you think this boy is your brother-in-law?” Thorin asked Balin, still more than slightly worried that Dori had projected his longing for his lost brother onto this young hobbit boy.

“The lad’s the right age to be Ori,” Balin admitted to the king, “but other than that, nothing.”

“He has the hue,” Dori put in quietly from his place behind his husband, barely loud enough to be heard.

“What was that Dori,” Frerin asked from the smaller throne to Thorin’s right, one that would be taken over by the future queen when Thorin found his One. Dori took a few steps forwards, but kept his eyes on the floor in front of him.

“He has the hue,” Dori told them, making his brother take in a sharp breath and tumble from his perch, despite the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be there. The entire room fell silent as the unspoken meaning of the dwarf’s words sunk in. No dwarf family on record had ever had the unique eye coloring that every member of the Ri family had, no matter who married into the family. No matter the color of the non-Ri parent, any child born into the Ri bloodline had an unusual mix of green and lilac standing out starkly against the surrounding white. Nori and Dori were the last known remaining members of the family and they both had what had been dubbed the Ri hue. Thorin  turned to his brother after a few minutes of silence, no longer completely convinced that Dori was projecting his loss.

“What do you think?” he asked, prompting a thoughtful moment from the younger dwarf.

“We never did find a body for the dwarfling,” Frerin told him, “and while Dori might see his brother in every child of age, Balin said he thought the boy dwarf.”

“He is less likely to see ghosts,” Thorin agreed with a nod, “We’ll send someone down to The Shire to see if they can learn more about the boy.”

“I’ll go,” Dwalin offered from his usual guard position behind Thorin.

“Someone subtle,” Thorin clarified without breaking his brother’s gaze, and ripping a snort of laughter from his brother, before he returned his attention to the couple waiting patiently in front of him

“Thank you Sire,” Dori said honestly as his shoulders sagged in relief.

“However,” Thorin said before Dori could say anything else, “He will have already imprinted on the hobbit woman and removing him would do nothing but harm. He would remain her son despite confirmation of his identity.” Dori grimaced at the thought, but took a deep breath and nodded.

“Just knowing he’s alive will be enough,” Dori said resolutely, though Thorin could see the tremble of his lip that was firmly bitten to remain firm.

 “We’ll deliberate on who to send, and I swear on my life that we will find out if he is of your blood.” Dori bowed along with his husband before the pair left the great hall. Thorin slid off the stone throne that was beginning to need another pillow to be remotely comfortable, and led his brother into the large study that was reserved strictly for the King. Frerin closed the door behind him and watched as his brother collapsed into a much more comfortable chair behind the desk with his face cradled in one hand.

“I’ll need a list of loyal dwarves we could send to The Shire,” Thorin sighed without looking up, “and pray the Nori doesn’t decide to kidnap the boy.”

“You should go,” Frerin told him, ignoring the little quip about Nori, but made a mental note to convince the spymaster’s apprentice that it was in his best bet not to disturb the proceedings. Thorin looked up at him with a frown and dropped his hand onto the oak table with a muffled thump.

“Go where?” Frerin rolled his eyes and silently asked Mahal how on earth his brother could be so brilliant and so utterly oblivious at the same time.

“To The Shire,” Frerin clarified slowly, “No one there knows you and anyone else you might normally send is known to the Halflings. It would seem strange for them to suddenly take an interest in the boy.” Thorin looked contemplative for a few beats of Frerin’s heart, but ultimately he dismissed his brother’s notions with a quick wave of his hand.

“I’m needed here,” Thorin argued weakly, “and-,”

“You’re miserable here,” Frerin interrupted bluntly, much to the surprise of his brother, “You do not want to be king.” The simple truth was quietly spoken, but the impact was felt keenly by both men. Despite the type of dwarf Thorin was, it was a risk to say such a thing to the king. Thorin could easily condemn his brother to death under their laws defining treason and no member of their race would denounce him for it. Thorin, however, merely sagged in his chair as if a great weight had been lifted from him.

                “No. I do not,” Thorin admitted, allowing his younger brother to see for the first time the strain the older dwarf was under, before he straightened back up to his normal posture, “But it is my duty to our people.” Frerin shook his head at his brother’s, admittedly inherited, stubbornness and walked forward until he could lean his hands on the desk.

                “You have done more for our people than any ruler since Durin himself,” Frerin told him, “Since we were forced from Erebor you have willingly run yourself ragged for our people, take this as an opportunity to share the weight of our family’s duty. You do not have to do this alone.” Thorin sagged again at his brother’s words and ran his blunt nails through his close cropped beard.

                “I would not wish this weight on anyone,” Thorin told him finally, “let alone the ones I hold dear.” Frerin collapsed into the chair across from his brother with a sigh when his brother had confirmed one of his many fears. Frerin had known for years that his brother’s protective instincts could prove to be mildly detrimental to his health, and there was his proof.

                “Dis and I were born to it as much as you,” Frerin told him, “As were FIli and Kili, but for the love of Mahal do not hand over the rule to those two miscreants just yet.” Thorin finally cracked a smile at the image of his two very young nephews having total power over their small kingdom.

                “They’d declare everyday biscuit day and drive everyone mad,” Thorin said, which led to another short round of laughter. The laughter died down slowly as the brothers let the unusual mirth wash over them, and Frerin snuck a glance at his still smiling older brother.

                “You will do our people no good if you work yourself back to the stone before your time,” Frerin told him, making Thorin sigh.

                “I would not feel right placing such a burden on you,” Thorin told him honestly to which Frerin snorted.

                “If you do not Dis may throw you out of the mountain until she deems you properly rested,” he told his brother, which made Thorin groan. Dis was a formidable woman, one that neither brother wanted to cross again, and she had been hassling Thorin to take better care of himself for the past few years.

                “She’s said as much?” Thorin asked without raising his head from the cool wood of his desk.

                “There may have been a few unpleasant steps I left out when she expressed her desire,” Frerin confirmed with an unrepentant smile. Thorin let out another heavy breath before pushing himself back up.

                “I will prepare for my journey as a wandering blacksmith in that case,” Thorin said.

                “A wise choice brother.”


	5. Catching Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reactions to this story have been amazing and inspiring, so I have to thank everyone who has commented and bookmarked. I will do my best to keep the story updated, but I am starting a very intense doctorate program in two days so that has to be my top priority. I'm enjoying this story immensely and have no plans to abandon it, so I truly hope that you all will have patience when it takes a while for me to update and stick with the story. Enjoy!

 

Chapter 5

                 Bilbo cleared the fallen leaves away from her parent’s graves for the first time in a week after a round of the sniffles had banished them to the inside of their home. Bilbo had been terrified when Ori had showed signs of the common hobbit illness because her aunt’s dwarf husband had told her that dwarves never got sick.

                “He’ll be fine,” her uncle Gearin assured her as the bulky dwarf examined the unhappy boy, “his cousin may have saved his life, but separating him from the safety of the stone so young made him more vulnerable to disease than the average dwarf.” His assurances did little to comfort the frantic first time mother, until Ori’s symptoms finally began to lessen. Gearin’s family, including his daughter Thistle, and Lobelia Sacksville-Baggins were the only ones in the Shire that know the truth behind Ori’s arrival.

                Lobelia and Bilbo had never been very close, though there had never any animosity, but it had still been shocking when Lobelia had become one of Ori’s most ardent defender against the few hobbits who ardently argued that the dwarfling didn’t belong and it all began because of knitting.  Lobelia’s yarn work was prized throughout the Shire and nearby Bree, so everyone had expected a huge blow up when a barely toddling Ori headed for Lobelia’s prized knitting basket. Everyone was shocked when, instead of destroying the carefully wound yarn, Ori simply stroked the soft yarn gently. Lobelia, who was honestly the most surprised of the bunch, quickly made her way over and sat on the floor next to the small boy and began knitting. Ori was fascinated and watched her knit for nearly an hour before Bilbo took him, crying, away for his nap. Every time after that when Bilbo hosted tea at her house, or attended one at Lobelia’s, Ori would always sit in Lobelia’s lap and watch her knit. He did the same with Bilbo’s crocheting, but knitting seemed to be what fascinated him the most. Now, Lobelia liked bright colors like any other proper hobbit, but her true favorite was a deep, rich jewel toned purple made from Blackberries. So when she presented Ori with a large knitted blanket in that color everyone, except Bilbo, waited for a hobbit’s natural aversion to dark colors. A reaction that never came. Ori immediately wrapped himself in it until only his nose was visible and had refused to leave it behind since that day and a deep kinship was born. So Lobelia was told about the secret, and promptly had to be held back from storming to the mountain to slaughter any threat to her beloved little cousin.

                “Stay close Ori,” Bilbo called again when Ori started to wander among the small flowered hills that served as tombs for hobbits that had lived to a ripe old age, or fallen victim to illness while still in their prime. There was a fence surrounding the large field and there was little danger in the Shire, so Bilbo was content to allow her young son to explore as much as he was able.

                “You would have laughed at me Papa,” Bilbo sighed to her father, “I was frantic at the first sneeze.” Bilbo was sure she could hear the familiar deep chuckle of her father and her mother scolding him for his snickering.

                “’Unny!” Ori’s excited yell brought a smile to his mother’s face, and let her know that her son had found a rabbit. With a mildly sad sigh, Bilbo turned her attention back to tending the graves of her parents.

                “I miss you both,” Bilbo told them, ignoring the tears that were dripping onto the emerald green grass and blue heather that had grown to cover the graves. Just as she was standing to gather Ori and make their way to open the shop a frightened child’s shriek filled the air.

                “Ori!” Bilbo screamed as she took off in the direction of the sound.

 

                Thorin walked down the dirt road that cut through The Shire feeling more relaxed then he had in decades. Dwarves were supposed to feel most at home when surrounded by rough stone and precious stones and metals, but Thorin felt a hole in his heart that he hadn’t known he had being filled by the rolling green hills. The fact that Thorin and Frerin both felt no pull to the stone like dwarves were supposed to and, while they loved their mountain, they craved the fresh air of open land. Their little sister had speculated that it was because their One’s were not dwarves. Dis had not known the impact her words had had on her brothers, who spent many nights speculating on what the ramifications could be. While there was no written or unwritten law in dwarven culture that forbid intermarriage there could be objections if member of the royal family married a non-dwarf, especially if it placed a child of that union earlier than a dwarf child in the line of succession.

                 His peace was shattered when he heard wood cracking and he looked up in time to see a small boy climbing on the fence surrounding a small cliff like drop-off on the side of the road, his eyes seemingly glued to a large orange butterfly. It was only a few inched taller than Thorin and wouldn’t do much damage to an adult, but the boy was definitely in danger if that fence didn’t hold. To his horror the wood bent and before he could warn the boy to get off, it snapped, sending the young child tumbling to the hard ground below. Thorin reacted with a warrior’s grace and caught the tiny body before it could hit the ground. Small hands immediately wound into Thorin’s cloak and the boy continued to keep his eyes screwed tightly shut, though his frightened screams had quieted to whimpers.

                “You’re alright little one,” Thorin whispered to the boy as he lifted him higher so the child could rest his head on the large dwarf’s shoulder, “You’re all right.” Thorin had to fight back a laugh as the large, soft scarf that was wrapped around the boy’s neck tickled his own.

                “Ori!” A woman’s frantic call made Thorin back up to the opposite side of the road so he’d be more easily seen.

                “Here,” He called out, assuming the woman was the boy’s mother and therefore frantic at the sound of her son’s frightened cries. Thorin felt his breath catch when the woman came into view with the sun at her back casting a glow around her frame. Her dark brown hair was twisted up into a large knot disguising the length, but the strands that had escaped showed that it would most likely cascade down her back in a waterfall of curls were it unbound. Her face was shadowed, making it impossible to see any detail, but Thorin felt an unusual pull towards the woman that made him uneasy. She paused in the gap left by the broken wood and glanced down at the road, obviously figuring that it wouldn’t be safe for her to get down that way.

                “Just a moment,” she said, pointing to a spot a little further down the road where Thorin assumed there was a safe exit. Deciding the polite thing to do was walk a little further down the road so the concerned mother could be reunited with her son as soon as possible. The child clutched more tightly to him as Thorin started walking and whimpered again, though he didn’t lift his head away from the dwarf king’s shoulder.

                “It’s alright little one,” Thorin assured the boy, rubbing small circles on his back as he walked, “Your mama will be here soon.”

                “Mama,” the boy sobbed, though it was muffed against the fur of Thorin’s cloak. Thorin had made it less than five feet before he could see the woman sprinting towards him with her green skirts billowing out behind her.

                “Did he fall?” she called when she was close enough to be heard, “Is he hurt?”

                “The fence gave when he climbed onto it, possibly chasing a butterfly,” Thorin told her as he waited for her to get close enough to take over comforting her child, “I managed to catch him, so I don’t believe he is injured.”

                The young hobbit woman finally reached them, allowing Thorin to see her face clearly for the first time. Her skin was fair despite the bright sun and the usual proclivity for hobbits to be in the sun, with a dusting of healthy pink on her cheeks. Thorin nearly blushed himself when he realized he was staring at her plump lips for far too long, so he busied himself with anything he could find so she wouldn’t notice. A jolt ran through the dwarf king when he looked into woman’s stunning blue-green eyes for the first time, and dumbly handed the child over when she reached for him. Ori immediately transferred his attachment at the sound of his mother’s voice whispering to him and began sobbing anew.

                Thorin waited for the hobbit to finish checking her child over for injuries after the short fall he’d taken into Thorin’s arms and fought back the urge to pull her into his arms as an unnatural warmth spread throughout his body.  It wasn’t long before she was satisfied he remained uninjured and she graced him with an unconsciously alluring smile.

                “Thank you for catching him,” she said as she set the boy down and rushed over to give the unsuspecting king a hug that made the dwarf stiffen, which she took to mean he was injured, “Are you alright?” She looked him over with a concerned frown that only disappeared when she was satisfied that there were no lurking wounds. Thorin cleared his throat to center himself and nearly stumbled again when her clear eyes caught his.

                “I am unhurt,” he assured her, which earned another smile from the hobbit and another skipped beat of his heart, “Thorin at your service.” The amount of trading between the two races made it doubtful that the hobbits hadn’t heard that he was king, but it was better to keep his story nearer to the truth and let the hobbits assume that he simply shared his name with his king.

                “Bilbo Baggins at yours,” she replied with a proper curtsy for a simple meeting of equals as opposed to a subject to a king, something that Thorin found please him immensely, “and this is my son Ori. Say thank you Ori.”

                “Tank ou,” Ori said around his thumb, and Thorin finally managed to look directly into the boy’s eyes. As Dori had claimed, the boy had pure emerald eyes with lines of light purple running through like a vein of amethyst flowed though stone. There was no doubt that Ori was indeed the infant that had been thought dead for six years.

                “I was my pleasure,” Thorin told the little child with a bow, drawing a happy giggle as Thorin had hoped.

                “You must come for breakfast,” Bilbo nearly commanded, grabbing Thorin’s arm and practically dragged him down the road.

                “I couldn’t impose,” Throin tried to argue, but the thought of a home cooked meal certainly sounded blissful after a three and a half days of travel.

                “You saved my son from a bump to the head at the very least,” Bilbo insisted, still dragging an unresisting dwarf behind her, “A good breakfast is nothing compared to that, and I make plenty every morning anyway.”

                “If you insist then it would be rude of me to refuse,” Thorin told her and was rewarded with a bright smile.

                “Then I must insist,” she said, and Thorin could do nothing but follow his One down the road.


	6. The Start of Hope

Bilbo had always strived to keep her son away from the dwarves who would visit The Shire in the hopes that it would keep the ones who wanted him dead away, but the dwarf that followed her was different. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt safe around him and that alone made her a little worried.  It didn’t take long for the Purple Carpet Thyme covered roof of her sweet shop to come into view, looking more like a frosted cake than a shop and it was just how Bilbo preferred it.

                “Baggins Sweet Shop,” Thorin read the elegant script off the sign above the door as they approached and waited for Bilbo to unlock the door. Much to his obvious surprise, she simply pushed the unlocked door open and marched inside, “You do not lock your door?” Bilbo looked surprised at the question for a moment before her face cleared.

                “The shops at the larger markets closer to Bree might,” Bilbo told him, “But we don’t have the same worries here in Hobbiton.” Thorin wondered what it would be like to live in a place where the faith and trust in your neighbors would allow one to live without fear of theft or violence.

                “Does everyone leave their doors open in such a way?”Thorin asked before he could think better of it. As a stranger to the residents of the land he had no right to assume that they would be willing to share secrets that could leave them vulnerable.

                “Many hobbit families will use a bolt on the door to their homes,” Bilbo told him, much to his surprise, “but it is more to prevent little ones from wandering after dark than anything else.” Thorin took a moment to look around the small shop and was nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of home the permeated throughout the small building.

                “This is lovely,” Thorin told her as he took in the small tables surrounded by heavily cushioned chairs and delicate table cloths that he was a little afraid to touch.

                “Thank you,” Bilbo said as she carried the small boy behind the polished wooden counter and into a small side room Thorin couldn’t see. He wondered for a moment if she was going to run through a side door, based on how nervous around dwarves Dori had reported her to be, but quickly dismissed the thought when she reappeared without her son a few minutes later, “How does fresh buttered bread, ham and eggs sound? Maybe with creamy rosemary potatoes?” To Thorin it sounded like heaven after three days of travel and the hard jerky that was common with packing lightly.

                “That sounds wonderful,” Thorin told her honestly, “If it’s not too much trouble.” Bilbo shook her head as she moved to the main kitchen, which Thorin was surprised he could see.

                “Ori and I usually have breakfast here,” Bilbo assured him, “so it’s no hardship to make enough for three.” The king under the mountain was flabbergasted by the shear waves of welcome that Bilbo had been sending at him from the beginning.

                “Thank you,” Thorin said and was rewarded with a brilliant smile for the hobbit woman.

 

                Bilbo had taken a minute to try and calm herself down when she had settled a still slightly shaken Ori in his playroom. The boy had resisted letting go of her until she had managed to distract him with his favorite blanket and he’d promptly fallen back asleep. Bilbo wondered if her little boy was every going to manage to sleep through the night and stay awake through the day, though she had to admit that the frequent naps were helpful sometimes. Taking a deep breath she started gathering everything she needed to make the rescuing dwarf. She hadn’t meant to tell the dwarf Ori’s real name, but had found it nearly impossible to lie to him. Something that had sent a jolt of nerves racing through her and she’d reverted to her ingrained politeness to grasp at something safe. The near instinctive act of cooking calmed Bilbo down enough so she could examine what the feeling was that she got around the unfamiliar dwarf. It wasn’t until she was loading up his plate that she realized she felt safe. Frowning, Bilbo paused  at the realization and wondered why it was that she was so instantly trusting of the stranger. Bungo had always said that Bilbo had an innate intelligence about her that allowed her to know someone’s true nature upon meeting them. It had helped in the past when strangers had approached the residents of the Shire, claiming they were interested in honest business, but were after something much more sinister. It was Bilbo that had warned the Thain to keep a close eye on the men and they had been caught stealing grain and gold. The few dwarves that had married into the hobbit families had chased the men out of the Shire, much to the amusement of their wives, and they hadn’t been seen since. That sense that had been with Bilbo for as long as she could remember was telling her that the dwarf in her sitting area wouldn’t hurt her. Shaking herself out of her musing, Bilbo carefully carried the high piled plate to where the dwarf was sitting patiently. Thorin’s eyes went wide when he saw the amount of food on the plate, though it seemed like a pleasant surprise.

                “I went off what my uncle Gearin usually eats,” Bilbo told him as she bustled around the room gathering all the things she needed for Ori’s breakfast, grinning at the appreciative groans coming from Thorin’s table.

“An unusual hobbit name. Almost dwarvish,” Thorin observed, “and the food is wonderful.”

“That’s because Uncle Gearin is a dwarf,” Bilbo called as she poked her head through the pass through, temporarily stunning the dwarf king, “And I’m glad you like it.”

Once the oatmeal had finished thickening, Bilbo added the handfuls of the fruit that she dried specifically for that purpose. She ladled her son’s usual serving into a bowl and set it aside to cool while she woke Ori up. The boy grumbled as his mother shook him awake, but he held his arms up sleepily so she could haul him into her arms. Bilbo carried the sleepy boy over to Thorin’s table and plopped him down into the highchair her father made. Thorin didn’t seem to mind that Bilbo had left the toddler with him when she went to get the now cooled oatmeal and her own breakfast, in fact his eyes sparkled when the boy poke to him quietly and handed his a piece of bread to munch on. Bilbo rolled her eyes at the butter smeared, but smiling, face of her son when she brought his breakfast out and paused to wipe the greasy mess off before starting to feed him.

                “What brings you to the Shire Thorin?” Bilbo asked as she seamlessly watched ate her own breakfast and kept Ori from smearing oatmeal into his light red hair without looking. Thorin raised an eye at the ability and Bilbo shrugged, “Mother magic.” Thorin laughed at the unexpected response that reminded him very much of his sister.

                “I hold a great deal of responsibility within my family,” Thorin told her as he speared another perfectly cooked potato, “They decided it was long past time for me to be temporarily relieved of that burden, despite my reluctance.”

                “They threw you out didn’t they,” Bilbo said with a slight smirk that turned into an outright giggle when the dwarf leveled a playful glare at her.

                “With barely anytime to pack,” Thorin muttered finally poking at his eggs with a frown. The frown apparently didn’t sit well with the toddler at the table, because he took the opportunity to fling a spoonful of very sticky oatmeal at Thorin. Both adults jumped as the gooey glob made contact with the skin just a bit above the color of his shirt, splattering into his beard and hair.

                “Ori!” Bilbo scolded the giggling toddler as Thorin peeled off his fur lined leather cloak and metal plated jerkin to protect them from the dripping mess. Bilbo scrambled to wet a napkin to help the taller being get cleaned up and unthinkingly started wiping down his neck, “I’m so sorry.” Thorin wanted to say something clever or suave to impress his one, but all he could focus on was the fact that her hands were only separated from his skin by a single layer. When Bilbo moved onto cleaning his beard, though he was sure she didn’t understand the significance of such a gesture, he nearly choked on his own tongue. Carefully, so he didn’t simply pull her into his arms, he reached up and covered her hand with his own.

                “I believe he’s about to make a mess,” Thorin was incredibly pleased that he managed to keep his voice even and smiled as Bilbo whipped her head around to see Ori smash a second spoonful of oatmeal into his already coated hair. As Thorin watched as Bilbo fretted over her son and made the boy giggle he knew that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect his new family, even if they didn’t realize it yet.


	7. Risk vs Reward

Thorin entered Bilbo’s underground house, or smail as he learned it was called, with a small amount of trepidation. When Bilbo had offered him a room in her home for the duration of his stay he’d tried to decline as politely as possibly, but Bilbo and her uncle had refused to hear. Bilbo’s uncle Gearin had been the first customer to arrive when Bilbo flipped the lovely carved wooden sign to signal their opening, and Thorin sighed when he recognized Gearin as a well respected furniture merchant in the mountain. One that had been commissioned many times by the royal family to create infant and children beds for Thorin’s two young nephews, but surprisingly the other dwarf hadn’t given away Thorin’s true identity.  
Thorin wanted to drop his head in defeat when he saw the recognition washing over Gearin’s face and waited for the white haired, but still stocky, dwarf to destroy his thin ruse.  
“Your usual Uncle?” Bilbo asked as she bustled about trying to feed Ori, though Thorin was helping with that as much as he could, and finish the first round of baking, “Does Thistle remember she agreed to help me with the orders today?”  
“Let me take care of the bairn lass,” Gearin said with a burr that was comfortingly familiar to the king as he swooped in to steal the boy’s spoon from his niece. Bilbo smiled and shook her head before she headed back to the kitchen to gather her uncle’s breakfast. Thorin waited for baited breath while he watched Gearin fed his great nephew without a word regarding the king sitting in his niece’s bakery.  
“I assume the little lass doesn’t know who ye really are?” The merchant finally asked without taking his eyes from the oatmeal covered toddler in front of him.  
“She does not,” Thorin admitted, not unaware of the absent and mildly curious hum that came from the dwarf.  
“And what brings ye to the Shire your majesty?” Gearin asked, “And don’t be thinkin’ I’ll believe anything about jest needing to get away. Were that the case, ye’d still have yer guards with ye.”  
“This little one,” Thorin admitted indicating Ori, which made Gearin shift his nephew into his lap to continue his breakfast, “I mean no harm.”  
“I know ye don’t,” Gearin sighed sadly as he continued to feed the toddler, “but that doesn’t mean ye won’t.” Thorin fought back a growl at the slight to his character since he knew angering Gearin was the surest way to keep any type of negotiation from going any further. Instead he decided it would be in his best interest to tell Gearin everything.  
“Six years ago the remnants of a caravan from the Iron Hill arrived at our gates,” Thorin told him quietly, “bringing with them tales of a devastating Orc attack that took the lives of an entire family.”  
“The lad’s parents,” Gearin filled in when Thorin paused. Thorin nodded and quickly wiped away a small piece of oatmeal that was dripping down Ori’s chin.  
“And the boy himself we were led to believe, “ Thorin told Gearin who didn’t look all that surprised at the information, “Which you knew already.”  
“Aye, the lad that gave him to Bilbo said as much,” Gearin admitted, “How did ya know he was here?”  
“My advisor Balin came to place an order for my brother’s name day celebration,” Thorin told him, “He brought his husband, Dori son of Ri.” He let the implication hang in the air, hoping the dwarf would understand.  
“The little lad’s brother I take it,” Gearin guessed and tickled Ori when the toddler tried to snatch a slice of fruit from Thorin’s plate. Thorin smiled at the fact that his One’s child was so comfortable around him and handed Ori the piece of melon once Gearin had approved it, smiling at the Ori’s squeal of delight before he began to munch happily on the fruit.  
“The line of Ri has a very distinct and rare eye color,” Thorin told Gearin, who nodded in agreement, “Dori knew the instant he saw them.”  
“It’s not safe for him to return to the mountain is it?” Gearin asked quietly. Thorin shook his head sadly.  
“Even if it was,” Thorin told him, “Ori would remain here.” Gearin frowned at the statement, knowing Ori had living kin and the dwarrow attitude towards dwarflings.  
“His brother doesn’t want him?”  
“Both his brothers would accept him happily,” Thorin assured the mildly ruffled dwarf, “But they realize that removing Ori from his mother would only cause difficulties.” Gearing huffed happily when he was assured that his niece wouldn’t be forced to give up her child, not that he’d allow it king or no, and both dwarves lapsed into a comfortable silence until Bilbo reemerged from the kitchens with her uncle’s breakfast. Once she’d set the heaping plate in front of her uncle, with an affectionate kiss to the large dwarf’s forehead, she turned to Thorin.  
“Did you need another helping?” she asked, nearly making Throin’s jaw drop in surprise. His plate had held more food than he’d been sure he could even eat, Ori had ended up eating most of the melon anyway, but he quickly recovered.  
“Thank you no,” Thorin said politely, “It was more than enough, and more kindness than I expected. Thank you.”  
“It was my pleasure Master Thorin,” Bilbo replied with a pleased flush that made Gearin’s brows rise and glance at Thorin. The King Under the Mountain could feel the blood rush to his own face in response to Gearin’s scrutiny, and only flushes more at the understanding that flashed in the other dwarf’s eyes. Another hobbit walking into the small bakery demanded Bilbo’s attention and she left after extracting a promise to watch over Ori from her uncle. The two males watched as Bilbo hurried over to welcome the other female hobbit and then Gearin turned to Thorin.  
“My niece is your One isn’t she?” Gearin asked nearly as soon as Bilbo was out of hearing range, making Thorin’s ears burn. He had hoped to avoid being that obvious, but had clearly failed. Plan defeated, Thorin nodded and fought the urge to drop his head to the table.  
“Bilbo!” Gearin called out suddenly, making Ori jump and glare at his great uncle and Throin chuckled at the toddler’s attempt at ferocity. Bilbo excused herself from the hobbit lass she was speaking to and made her way over to the table.  
“Is something wrong?” she asked with a quick glance at her son to make sure there wasn’t a reason for concern, before turning her attention back to her uncle.  
“Thorin was just asking me about finding an inn,” Gearin told her, fully confusing Thorin who certainly didn’t remember saying anything about finding an inn. Though that would have to be his next stop once he had finished his delicious breakfast if he didn’t want to spend another night under the stars.  
“The closest inn is in Bree,” Bilbo said with some confusion, “You know that Uncle.” Gearin made a show of laughing at himself for forgetting something about the village he’d lived in for decades, and Thorin had a bad feeling the older dwarf was up to something.  
“Could you grab the basket please?” Bilbo’s voice filtered through the air, pulling Thorin from his memories and he turned to grab the grocery basket that Bilbo had set down when she opened the door. Thorin sighed as he closed the door behind him and cursed Gearin yet again for putting him in the position he was faced with. When Gearin had suggested that Thorin let a room from Bilbo and do repairs around Bag End that Bilbo was unable to as payment, Thorin had protested fervently. The idea of staying in the same house as his one without being able to touch her the way he wanted to was nearly heart wrenching, but his resolve plummeted when Bilbo turned her nearly pleading eyes to him.   
A tugging on his pant leg drew his attention down and he met Ori’s eyes once his own hit just above his knees. The toddler held his arms up when he saw he’d gotten the dwarf’s attention.  
“Up,” the little one demanded and Thorin obeyed the squeaky demand without thought, “Hi.” Thorin couldn’t help but smile at the little boy’s innocent trust and took him into the kitchen where Bilbo was busy emptying the basket. Watching Bilbo putter around the kitchen with the weight of a dwarfling in his arms was the first moment in his life that Thorin could remember feeling truly at home.


	8. Conflicting Hopes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for this to get up. School has been absolutely running me ragged. Anyway, I will try to get the next chapter up soon, but no promises. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Quick side note, pictures of the cast.
> 
> Thistle=Scarlett Johansson (iron man 2)
> 
> Bilbo= Daniela Denby-Ashe (From the BBC's North and South)
> 
> Frerin= Chris Hemsworth (Thor 2 {Better hair})
> 
> Gearin= Sean Connery (I mean really, who else?)

Chapter 8

                Thorin was convinced by supper that hobbits were obsessed with food. He’d left the bakery with Gearin a short time after the other dwarf’s daughter, who Gearin had introduced as Thistle Greenstone, had arrived to help Bilbo serve her customers and keep the delicious food flowing from the kitchen. They were, however, unable to leave until Bilbo had made them promise to return for something she called elevensies. Gearin had shown Thorin around his forge and assured the King Under the Mountain that he was free to use any of his tools when he needed to. After a day of familiarizing himself with the forge and new tools, as well as a scolding from Bilbo when both dwarfs forgot about elevenzies, both dwarves were enjoying a pipe in front of a lively fire. Ori was sitting quietly between their chairs knitting, or rather tangling the yarn around him as he attempted to knit.

                “His brother’s will want to see him,” Gearin observed as the two dwarves kept an eye on the small dwarfling, to make sure that he didn’t manage to strangle himself, and listened to the hobbit lasses putter around in the kitchen.

                “I will not allow anything that would make Miss. Baggins uncomfortable,” Thorin assured him as he reached out to pluck a stray piece of string off Ori’s ear.

“Bilbo will want the little lad to know his blood family along with his adopted one, but I’ll stand by if it makes her feel more secure,” Gearin offered, “And I’ll bring my Thistle too. There’s not a dwarf alive who would challenge her when she’s got her frying pan belted to her waist.”

                “She has a strong swing I take it?” Thorin asked with a slightly raised brow, and was satisfied to see Gearin puff up with pride.

                “Knocked down three men in one swing when they kept pluckin’ at her skirts,” Gearin beamed, “and they weren’t even drunk!” Thistle emerged from the kitchen before Thorin could reply, and it was easy to see why she had so much interest. She had hair as red as any ruby Thorin had ever seen and curves that would make even the most reserved and prudish male salivate. Those attributes paired with a face that looked like it belonged among the innocent fae and a temper that matched the fire of her hair made Thorin fervently hope that she never meet his sister.

                “Supper is ready papa, Master Oakenshield,” she told them in a sweet voice that Thorin knew all too well. He turned to Gearin as he swung a giggling Ori into his arms.

“Your Thistle reminds me very much of my sister,” he told the older dwarf with a solemn tone. Gearin patted Thorin’s shoulder.

“Then we’d best not keep her waiting,” he said with a low chuckle that quickly mixed with Thorin’s own.

Thorin carefully handed the plate of roasted vegetables across the table to Gearin as Bilbo tended Ori with Thistle making faces at the boy. She ignored Bilbo’s glare whenever Ori laughed and spilled food down the front of his shirt, which Bilbo had luckily covered with another cloth.

“Have you ever felt the call of stone Mistress Greenstone?” Thorin asked in an attempt to help his One, by distracting Thistle from her entertainment of the dwarfling. Thistle turned her attention to the dwarf king that her father had shoved into their little family and shook her head.

“Not nearly as much as some of my sisters,” she told him, “but I can hold my own in the forge.” Thorin stared at her in confusion for a moment before switching to Gearin.

“Some,” he nearly stuttered, “How many daughters do you have?” Gearin chuckled, knowing full well what Thorin was confused about.

“Including Thistle,” Gearin said with a pause long enough to make Thorin lean in closer, “Seven.” Thorin’s jaw dropped and he sat back in his chair so hard that he nearly knocked the chair backwards.

“Seven daughters,” Thorin breathed in amazement, “Mahal has certainly blessed you.

“And four sons,” Gearin informed Thorin smugly, after waiting for the king of take a large gulp of his ale “and another barin on the way.” The king was quickly forced to decide on chocking on his drink or spewing it across the room in surprise. He choked, in deference to his One’s rugs.  Bilbo was at his side in less time than it took Thorin to begin coughing glaring at her uncle, knowing full well just how shocking the size of his family was to other dwarves, while Thistle did her best to smother her laughter behind a hand.

“Uncle!” Bilbo scolded as she unconsciously rubbed Thorin’s back in a comforting manner, not realizing she was just making it harder for the large dwarf to breathe.

“Twelve dwarflings,” Thorin  finally managed to squeak out, though he would deny it for the rest of his days.

“We call them dwobbits,” Gearin confirmed proudly, ignoring the glares his niece and even his great nephew were throwing his way. Thorin couldn’t help but smile when the small dwarfling haphazardly patted his are while he glared at his great uncle. There was no doubt that the little one didn’t have a full understanding of what was happening to his new friend, but he knew that Gearin had been the cause.

“Dwobbits,” Thorin sighed and dropped his head back down to the table as thoughts of Bilbo surrounded by tiny dwobbits with the features of their parents scattered between them. Thorin was particularly taken by a tiny green eyed girl with coal black hair who toddled around on feet larger than a dwarf’s, but smaller than a hobbit’s, with him following close behind. It took him a moment to pull himself out of his dreaming when he realized his hobbit was speaking to him.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked again when Thorin finally lifted his head from the oak table. Thorin was quick to nod and assure the worried looking hobbit that he was not unwell, and the small group finished their meal without anymore events.

When the Greenstones left for the night, after extracting a promise from Thorin to accompany Bilbo to their family dinner later that week, Thorin was left nearly alone in the house with his One. Bilbo excused herself to put an exhausted Ori to sleep before showing Thorin to his room.

“Goodnight Master Oakenshield,” Bilbo said after showing Thorin to one of the large guest bedrooms and the nearest bathroom.

“You as well Mistress Baggins,” Thorin replied with a polite bow and internally preened when he saw the faint blush painting the hobbit’s cheeks.

He waited until the door was closed behind Bilbo, and that enough time had passed for her nearly silent gait to carry her down the hall, so he could collapse onto the feather soft mattress. Once the dwarves of his kingdom discovered the fertility of the hobbits lasses there would be a mad rush of dwarves looking for a mate. A groan of frustration and dismay was smothered with a down pillow as he thought about having a hobbit as his One, and what could happen when his people found out. No dwarf would deny him his One, but they could call for his abdication, uncomfortable with the idea of a nondwarf on the throne. For the first time in his life, Thorin truly resented the accident of his birth.


	9. Raising Hopes and Dashing Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed the chapters were out of order. This is supposed to be chapter 8.5, but the setup won't let me do that. Sorry for the confusion. Enjoy!

The day after Thorin arrived in the Shire a letter was sent back to the mountain to inform the rest of the royal family that Thorin had confirmed Ori’s identity and that he was staying longer than expected. Thorin had purposely left out that Ori’s mother was his One and hoped his siblings would allow him some peace, but he doubted it. He spent the next week pounding away at red hot metal in his borrowed forge and relaxing with his new family, not that they knew he considered them such, wishing that the rest of his life could be the same.

Two weeks had passed in relative silence and Thorin was finally allowing himself to hope for a future with Bilbo as the pair grew closer, but the thing he feared most came to pass on a night when everything was looking its brightest.


	10. Unexpected and Unwelcome Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three updates in two days! Next one will be a while. Enjoy!

Thorin and Gearin settled down on the living room couch, eyes periodically shifting to Ori where he played in front of the fire, muscle twitching periodically from overuse at the forge. It was a type of pain that Thorin hadn’t felt in years and he reveled in the familiarity while he told Bilbo of his family.

“Dis was furious when Father told her that she was to marry a dwarf she had never met,” Thorin told Bilbo as she stirred fragrant dried herbs into the stew that was bubbling in the large cast iron pot over the fire in the dining room, every so often casting a glance at the small dwarfling sitting quietly with his toys through the thankfully open archway between the two rooms.

                “I can certainly understand why,” Bilbo informed him with a sympathetic sniff, causing Thorin to chuckle.

                “As can I,” he assured her, “but it turned out well in the end.”

                “Dis stormed into the main hall as I was arguing on her behalf and marched right up to Víli with death in her eyes. I think Víli would have preferred to be chased naked through the halls of his ancestral home by a band of rampaging Orcs at that moment rather than face her temper,” he told her, “Dis took one look into his eyes and commanded the wedding take place immediately because she’d found her One. Then she kissed him in front of the entire council of lords.”

                “It sounds like she never does things halfway,” Bilbo observed with amusement clear in her voice.

                “She undoubtedly does not,” Gearin said before Thorin could respond, “I saw at the market once. Ripped into a vender who’s tried to cheat a blind woman, she did. You would have thought she was Mahal reborn with the vengeance she swore against him.”

                “Are arranged marriages common for dwarves?” Bilbo asked with a quick glance at her uncle, making Thorin think Gearin hadn’t shared much of their race’s history with Bilbo. Thorin wasn’t sure if he was pleased Gearin had kept their secrets or not.

                “After the dragon took Erabor,” Thorin told her, “our people wandered for decades before we settle in the Blue Mountains. My father had always worried about Dis, she was his only daughter and dwarrowdams are near sacred to our race, but after a few close calls he became near obsessive about her safety.” Gearing nodded his agreement at the memory of darker times and took a long swallow of his ale.

                “Close calls?” Bilbo asked with a confused frown. Gearin sighed sadly and Thorin turned a dark gaze to the honey colored liquid in his simple pewter stein.

                “The roads are dangerous places my dear,” Gearin told her sadly, “with men who don’t like to take no for an answer.” Gearin held her gaze to make sure she understood what he was implying and nodded sadly when she swallowed harshly at her understanding.

                “My father wanted her to have a home,” Thorin finally spoke again, “Somewhere she could be safe, and he didn’t really think about my sister’s reaction.”

“She was lucky she found her True Home in what was his name? Vili?” Bilbo said, “It could have been a nightmare to be forced to marry someone you don’t love.” Bilbo stepped away from the stew long enough to stretch for the bowl of sugared raspberries Thistle had placed on the heist shelf for whatever reason.

“Her what?” Thorin asked as he reached for the bowl that rested far over Bilbo’s head, ignoring the implication that Thrain would have forced Dis into a marriage she truly didn’t want. Bilbo took the bowl with a quick word of thanks and began mixing in the ingredients she needed to make the raspberry tarts Throin had immediately fallen in love with while keeping an eye on the simmering stew.

                “Her True Home,” Bilbo explained, “The one person in the whole world that makes life worth living when all else has turned to darkness. We call that person our true home.”

                “I see,” Thorin said, though he really didn’t have a firm grasp on the concept, “Do you know instantly upon meeting them?” Thorin thought it was possibly like a dwarf’s One, but dismissed the idea when Bilbo shook her head.

“Do dwarves know their Ones immediately?” Bilbo asked as she continued to stir the stew over the fire to keep it from burning. Thorin thought about how to answer her question, trying to decide between the full truth or easing her into the idea.

“They know the minute their eyes meet,” Thorin admitted, keeping his eyes fixed on Bilbo to gauge her reaction, “It becomes difficult for them to be apart from, especially for the males. They have strong desire to protect females from birth, but the desire to protect their Ones goes beyond anything they have ever felt before and they have very difficult time saying no to them.” Bilbo glanced away from the bubbling liquid while still stirring and raised an eyebrow at Thorin, who was thankful that his short beard covered his blush.

“Bilbo,” Thistle called from the pantry, “Did Ori move things around again? I can’t find the yeast.” Bilbo  giggled and waved her uncle over.

“Stir this,” she told him, “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the large pantry, allowing Thorin to collapse further into his chair with a soft groan.

“Very smooth lad,” Gearin chuckled, “very smooth.”

“Quiet Gearin,” Thorin muttered darkly as he downed the rest of his ale. Gearin opened his mouth for another retort when he was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. With a low groan, Thorin pushed himself out of the chair so Bilbo wouldn’t have to stop helping Thistle in the pantry, where he could hear the two arguing quietly.

Whatever Throin had been expecting, mostly Lobilia to visit Ori and glare at him, it certainly wasn’t his little brother.

“What in Mahal’s name are you doing here Frerin?” He nearly bellowed, making his brother cringe and rub his ear with an exaggerated wince.

“I see a relaxing environment hasn’t  helped you at all,” Frerin complained as he pushed past him into the entryway, leaving Thorin behind to close the door with a growl, “Gearin!” Thorin reentered the living room to see Frerin and Gearin embracing enthusiastically and slid back onto the couch while Ori looked up at the newcomer in suspicion.

“I asked you what are you’re doing here?” Throin hissed at his little brother when Frerin finally let go of Gearin and slid into the seat next to him.

“I may have yelled at a delegation from Rivendell,” Frerin admitted, making Thorin groan in dismay. He would be the first to admit that eleves were low on his ranking of the races residing in Middle Earth, because of Thranduil’s actions during the dragon’s attack, but they owed Elrond and the elves of Rivendell a great debt. When the elf lord had heard what had befallen the dwarves of Erebor he had personally gathered healers and warrior hunters to ride to their aid. The aid had been immediately followed by an offer of sanctuary in the hidden valley. Thorin had swallowed his pride and convinced his father and grandfather to accept. It was there that the ruling three, as Frerin had started calling them, had decided to settle in the Blue Mountains.

“What possessed you to risk one of our greatest allies?” Thorin growled at a suitably chastised looking Frerin.

“One of the elves scared Fili and Kili,” Frerin told him, “called them hairy little rats that should be thrown down the mountain.”

“Did you throw him down the mountain?” Thorin growled at the knowledge that his nephews had been insulted and afraid. Frerin snorted at the change in attitude and shook his head.

“It wasn’t necessary,” he said, “Once I was pulled off on him, Elrond sent him back to Rivendell in disgrace.” Thorin nodded in acceptance, knowing that Elrond had no forgiveness to creatures who harmed the young of any race in any way.

“So what are you doing here?” Thorin asked again, determined to get an answer and get his brother back on his way.

“Dis believes that my staying in the Shire during the Rivendell delegation’s stay to prevent any more unpleasant incidents from arising,” Frerin told him, “Her words.”

“How long are you staying?” Thorin asked with another glance at where his One was hidden in the pantry.

“How long are you?” Was the retort.

Thorin groaned at the realization that he was going to be force to court his One with his mischievous younger brother hovering over his shoulder and dropped his head back onto the back of the couch while Frerin grinned unrepentantly.

“Da?” Thistle’s voice drifted through the front door of the shop, momentarily distracting Gearin and Frerin from their teasing of Throin, “We heard the door? Oh hello.” Thorin peaked up to see if he would be forced to punch his brother for ignoring, or forgetting, the manners their mother had instilled on them and snapped his head up at the look on Frerin’s face. The younger dwarf was staring at Thistle Greenstone with undisguised awe, and was being met with an unsure and slightly disturbed gaze form the dwabbit in question. Luckily, for Frerin anyway, the current heir to the throne of Erid Luin reclaimed his temporarily misplace common sense and greeted the young woman.

“Good evening,” he said, only it emerged as a squeak that Thorin hadn’t heard since Frerin had come of age and his balls had finally dropped. In response to his brother’s plight, Thorin did what any loving brother would do. He shoved his hand into his mouth and attempted to fight back his laughter at the sight of his brother greeting his One for the first time.


	11. The Ending of The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WooHoo!!! Two week break from school (even though I have to study ahead of time), so hopefully I can get a few more chapters up. I make no promises. Enjoy!

                Thorin bit his lip as Frerin seemed to stumble over his tongue in an attempt to think of something suave to say, and fail miserably.

                “Who are you then?” Thorin had to credit Frerin with at least evening his voice out a bit, but wanted to slap him upside the back of the head for even seeming to be rude. Frerin must have felt the same because he winced nearly the second after he spoke, though anyone who hadn’t spent decades at his side wouldn’t have seen it. Thistle raised a nearly imperious eyebrow at him and gave a quick polite curtsy.

                “Thistle Greenstone, at your service,” she said before turning to her father, “Wash up for dinner, we’ll set another place.” With a last glance at a mildly stunned Frerin, Thistle flounced back into the kitchen to inform Bilbo of their new guest. Once she was out of sight, Gearin reached out and clocked Frerin upside the back of the head, sending the young prince’s face into the solid table. Frerin groaned as he sat back up, holding his bruised nose.

                “What was that for?” he asked the older dwarf grumpily.

                “That’s no way to introduce yerself to yer one lad,” Gearin told him firmly, “Especially if she’s me daughter. At least your brother was better with her cousin.” Thorin’s eyes went wide and he looked at Gearin in utter betrayal, while Frerin’s eyes went wide for an entirely different reason.

                “Is he… did you… when did… how?” As amusing as it normally was to see Frerin flounder over his words, at that moment Thorin wanted nothing more than for his brother to be back in mountain.

                “You had to say it,” Thorin growled at Gearin  while Frerin continued to sputter nonsensical words in the background.

                “He’d have figured it out eventually,” Gearin replied with a casual shrug and ignored Thorin’s glare to return his focus to his smoldering pipe. Before Thorin could come up with another response, Thistle reappeared.

                “Dinner’s up,” She said before turning her gaze to Ori, “time to wash up little one.” Frerin perked up and jumped out of his chair.

                “I’ll get him,” Frerin told her eagerly and nearly scrambled over to the young boy. Once Ori was in reach, Frerin bent down to pick up the toddler and immediately pulled back his hand with a yelp when he was rewarded with a harsh jab from a sharp knitting needle into the soft palm of his hand.

                “No!” Ori told him with a fierce glare, “no, no no! Stop it!” Thorin of course did what any good brother would do in that situation, he fell off his chair laughing and only laughed harder when Ori crawled over to sit on him. Thistle and Gearin weren’t much better, but Thistle at least went to check on Frerin’s hand.

                “What’s going on here?” Bilbo asked as she entered the living room to see her son plopped down on her laughing boarder and a pouting dwarf she didn’t know.

                “Thorin’s brother here tried to pick up Ori and the little one jabbed him with a needle,” Gearin told her between gasps for air as he laughed. Bilbo rolled her eyes at her uncle and walked over to scoop up her squirmy son from where he was bouncing lightly on Thorin’s back.

                “Any damage?” she asked her cousin who was taking just a bit too long looking over a wholly enchanted Frerin’s battle wound. Thistle glanced at her before quickly dropping the young dwarf’s hand as if it had scalded her. She shook her head and disappeared back into the dinning room, leaving behind a very stunned Frerin. Gearin and Bilbo made their way after her, with Bilbo pausing to nudge a still snickering Thorin as she passed. The king downed king managed to roll to his feet to gather up his little brother who was still staring at his hand in amazement.

               “Come on little brother,” Thorin said as he slung an arm around Frerin’s shoulders, “the food my One creates puts all other cooks to shame.” Frerin managed to shake himself out of his stupor and stumble after his older brother.

               “Does she know?” Frerin asked quietly, earning an inquisitive glance from his brother, “Ori’s mother? Does she know she’s your one?”

               “No,” Thorin told him, bringing the pair to a stop, “Nor does she know of our family’s status.”

               “She will not hear it from me brother,” Frerin assured him in the serious tone that was not often heard from him.

               “You have my gratitude,” Thorin told him, “Now let us see if we can win their hearts.”

                Thistle was setting the table while Bilbo got Ori settled into the wooden highchair he always ate from when the brothers entered the room. Thorin patted his brother on the shoulder once more before sliding in to his usual seat, next to Ori and across from Bilbo, leaving his brother to shift awkwardly as he waited for someone to tell him where to sit. He didn’t have to wait long before Thistle snagged his tunic sleeve and led him over to the chair next to her.

               Conversation was put aside as food was distributed around the table, and Thorin stopped Ori from smashing anything into his hair as was his favorite thing to do, until Frerin decided it was the proper time for him to attempt conversation with his One.

               “I’m Frerin!” He said suddenly, making Thorin choke on the ale he’d just drank. Bilbo was next to the dwarf king quickly, pounding him on the back as his body did it’s best to expel the fluid from his windpipe. Gearin’s head hit the table with and audible thud and rocked back and forth as he shook his head, but Thistle seemed utterly unfazed.

               “Pleasure to meet you,” she told him as she continued to cut into the rosemary potatoes on her plate without looking up, leaving Frerin frowning at the lack of attention, “Would you pass me the bread please Papa?” Gearin fought back a wide grin at the expense of his future son-in-law and handed the basket of warm bread to his daughter. Bilbo stayed standing next to Thorin, who hadn’t noticed that he still had a light hold of her outer skirt, but had turned her attention to helping her son eat. Frerin slumped in defeat and proceeded to push the food around on his plate, appetite suddenly gone.

               “I take it you like children Master Frerin?” Thistle asked making the dwarf in question jump a bit and turn to stare at Thistle, “You seemed to expect Ori to be comfortable with you rather quickly.”

                “Uh… Yes?” Thorin shook his head at his brother’s awkward response and wondered if he would ever get more nephews, or nieces, at with the way Frerin’s attempted courting was going.

                 “You don’t seem very sure,” Thistle teased with a warm smile that brought a blush to Frerin’s face.

                  "I do well enough with my nephews," Frerin told her before smiling a little self-consciously, "Though I am not around children that are not kin to me."

                 “Do you wish for some of your own?” Thistle asked as she served herself another serving of stew.

                 “Yes,” Frerin answered quickly before blushing at his own eagerness, “Many, however we dwarves are not known for our fertility so I will have to be content if Mahal chooses to only bless me with one or two.”

                  “Dwarves may not be known for their fertility,” Thistle told him calmly, “But we dwabbits are. We will have as many as we wish.”

                   This time it was Frerin’s turn to choke and a howling Gearin pounded him on the back happily, while Thorin collapsed back into his chair. A mildly shocked Bilbo absently wrapped a comforting arm around a chaotically laughing Thorin’s shoulder as he shook his head in disbelief.

                   “What… how….,” Frerin gave up and dropped his head to the table with a low, pained groan. Thistle sighed and pushed her chair back so she could walk over to Frerin. She bullied him into sitting back in his chair and slid into the stunned dwarf’s lap.

                    “Were you planning on having children with someone other than your One?” she asked him, causing the dwarf’s eyes to widen in shock. Thorin groaned in jealously at the knowledge that his little brother was going to get his One with such ease.

                     “You… how…,” Frerin stumbled over his words, more than a little flustered by the fact that his One was perched  contentedly on his knees, with her backside tantalizingly close to an area that’s interest could prove a little too hard to disguise, “You know?”

                     “Did ya think you were the only one here who could tell?” Thistle snorted when Frerin hesitantly nodded after  quick glance at his brother, “You’re adorable.” Frerin’s blush intensified when Thistle dropped a quick kiss at the corner of Frerin’s mouth.

                     “Welcome to the family lad’s,” Gearing chortled, earning an utterly lost look from Frerin and a half hearted glare from his daughter who refused to leave her One’s lap,  as well as Thorin who wasn’t ready to reveal the truth to Bilbo, “and Mahal save you both!”


	12. Letters from Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long to get another chapter up. School is taking up ALL my spare time, even some I don't have to spare, but I'm not giving up on the story. It may take a long time for the next chapter, but I will continue.

                Thorin rubbed at the spot on his forehead that was rapidly becoming the sight of a massive headache. He’d known from the beginning that his life in Hobbiton couldn’t last, but nearly two months of living in Bag End, with his unknowing new family, had made him forget. The dwarf king had hoped to convince Bilbo that he was her True Home before he would be forced to return to the mountain , but the letter from Balin reminding him of the impending arrival of nobles from the Iron Hills brought his fantasy crashing harshly back down to reality. Bilbo was still unaware of his true identity, and Thorin had no idea how to reveal it. Thorin had sent Gearin a letter that morning and, with any luck, the other dwarf would make his way to the forge before lunch. Until then, THorin was free to continue his work.

                Thorin hissed when he absently used his injured hand to grab the pan that had finally finished cooling until it was safe for anyone to touch. His hands had roughened through years of black smithing, until he could handle heated metal without so much as a twinge, but even he could not hand cherry red metal without conciquesnses.  The burn still throbbed with every pump of his heart, despite the ointment given to him by the mother of the child who’d caused it. Thorin had been working on the last of his orders before he would be forced to return to the mountain, thinking about the letter from Balin and its chilling news, when a young fauntling had unknowingly run through the forge. Normally it would earned the little one a firm scolding regarding safety, but the boy had tripped on the uneven floor and fallen towards a still glowing skillet left to cool. Instinctively Thorin caught the child with one hand and swept the burning metal aside with the other, singeing his hand in the process.  The boy’s older brother had come sprinting in after the younger, quickly followed by their mother, just in time to see Thorin prevent disaster. The thankful hobbit woman very nearly blubbered on him as she expressed her gratitude and ran to a nearby healer to purchase a healing ointment, despite the dwarf king’s protests.

                He bit back a curse of pain as the formerly throbbing burn sent another flare of pain up his arm and fought back the urge to dunk the appendage into the cooling water by the anvil. Even he knew a move like that would only invite infection.

                “Thought I’d ‘ave warranted a better greeting than that,” Gearin told him from where he leaned against the doorway of the forge’s back entrance, “Seeing as we’re so close to being family and all.” Thorin rolled his eyes and tilted his head for Gearin to follow him into the small office at the front of the forge where he spoke with his customers so they were protected from the heat and smells of the forge. Thorin immediately submerged his hand in a bowl of cool, clean water he’s left on the table for just that purpose and dropped into the chair with a sigh. With a concerned frown, Gearing did the same.

                “What’s wrong lad?” Gearin asked, and once again Thorin was reminded of his own father before he succumbed to madness and vanished.

                “I must return to the mountain,” Thorin told him, “Immediately.”

                “You’ll need to tell Bilbo,” Gearin replied, with the frown still firmly fixed to his face, “Why the urgency?”

                “Did Bilbo every tell you how Ori came to her?” Gearin seemed thrown off by the sudden change of topic, but recovered quickly.

                “She only said it was a favor made to an old friend of the family’s,” Gearin told him, “The Baggins family isn’t known for lies or violence, so no one questioned it and then Belladona took ill and that was that. Why do you ask?” Thorin sighed and pulled out Balin’s letter with the hand that wasn’t submerged in cool water, which took some maneuvering since it was in the opposite pocket.

                “Fier is the younger brother of Ori’s father,” Thorin told the other dwarf as Gearin perused the letter, “Ori’s parents were traveling with him at the time of their deaths, and it is strongly suspected that he had something to do with their deaths.”

                “Killer of kin,” Gearin hissed as he dropped the letter back to the table as if the label could be transferred through mention.

                “Technically Ori is the heir to his father’s fortune,”  Thorin told him, “A fortune that is currently in his uncle’s hands.”

                “He’ll be passing through the Shire won’t he?” Thorin nodded

                “In less than a week,” Thorin confirmed, “We need a plan to keep Bilbo and Ori out of sight. Possibly move them somewhere safe.” Thorin bit back a wince as Gearin’s eyes widened, wishing for once that the other dwarf wasn’t as astute as he was.

                “You want to move them to the mountain,” Gearin said.

                “They would be guarded well and lack for nothing during their stay,” Thorin argued, despite a small portion of him mind telling him Gearin wasn’ the person he needed to be explaining that to. Gearin chuckled and slapped a hand down on the table.

                “Make sure I’m there when you tell Bilbo,” Gearin cackled, prompting Thorin to drop his head to the table with a groan.


	13. This is the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *read in the same way as Frankenstein* I'M ALIVE! Hi everyone! I'm back for a bit. I will be doing my best to finish this story during my break, and possibly starting a new one I can post during school, but I make no promises. Thank you so much to everyone who has kept up with this story. You're the reason I've stuck with it during such a stressful time. School is hellish, but is still one of the best decisions I have ever made. Enjoy!

Thorin trudged down the charming and picturesque roads of Hobbiton as he made his way to the Baggins Sweet Shop.

                “Useless elf spawn!” The common dwarven  insult, followed immediately by a young sounding yelp, had Thorin grinding to a halt. He quickly ducked behind a nearby  building to stay hidden as he looked for the dwarf causing the disturbance. Fier and his small convoy were not due for a few more days, according to Balin’s letter, but Thorin knew no dwarf under his rule would dare strike anyone as young as that yelp made them sound.  Unfortunately for Thorin, it appeared that Fier had ridden hard through the nights to stay ahead of schedule. Fier’s son was hunched protectively over a very, very young infant dwarfling and Thorin could already see the bruise forming on the cheek of the adolescent dwarf. Everything in Thorin was screaming for him to stop such a transgression of his laws, but he knew Bilbo and Ori had to be his first concern.

                “Thorin what-,” Thorin spun around at the sound of his brother’s voice and was relieve to see the younger dwarf with Thistle, both of them looking at him in confusion. Immediately, Thorin latched onto his little brother.

                “Fier,” He said, pointing towards the dwarf around the corner. Frerin immediately went pale behind his golden beard and slipped past his brother to glance around the corner in time for another yelp to be heard. This time Thorin had to hold his growling brother back from rushing forward to protect the dwarflings.

                “Attack him now and we can do nothing for the young ones,” Thorin whispered to him, “Once they get to the mountain, we can ensure that he never lays another hand on them.” Frerin growled again, but stopped resisting his brother’s hold, and nodded.

                “What do you need?” He asked. Thorin released his hold and stepped away, keeping himself between his brother and the hated dwarf.

                “Take Ori and Bilbo back to Bag End and keep them there,” Thorin told him, “Have Gearin convince Bilbo if needed. I will return to the mountain tonight.”

                “What is going on?” Thistle finally shouted to get the attention of the dwarves. Frerin immediately went to his One’s side to explain.

                “The dwarf we believe murdered Ori’s parent’s and attempted to kill Ori is in Hobbiton,” Frerin told her and was forced to catch her arm when she unhooked the cast iron skillet from her belt and marched towards the unknowing dwarves.

                “I just want to get a look at him,” she assured her fiancé, “Then we go get Bilbo and talk about what else you haven’t told me.” Frerin winced at the last bit of her announcement, but followed her until she could peak around the corner and pointed Feir out to her. Satisfied that she could recognize the murderous dwarf if need be, Thistle led Frerin away to gather up her cousins.

“My lord,” Thorin heard one of the guardsmen say, “The ponies will not last another push through the night.” It was clearly an attempt to gain some rest for him ragged looking men, one that could very well get him dismissed from his position, and he held firm when Feir tore his attention away from the children to glare at the guard.

“Fine,” Feir finally grumbled after a moment of tense silence, “Find me an inn.” Thorin had heard enough and made haste back to Bag End to gather his things so he could begin the long trek back to the mountain.

“Thorin?” Bilbo’s confused voice made Thorin look up from shoving things in the leather satchel, “What’s going on?” There was no mistaking the fear and confusion in her eyes, compounded by the fact that she cuddled a sleeping Ori to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin told her, shocking the hobbit by pulling her and Ori into his embrace, “Frerin and I must return to the mountain tonight.”

“Why?” Bilbo said, still very confused at the sudden development in their lives. Thorin sighed and backed away enough so he could look Bilbo in the eye.

“How much has Frerin told you?” He asked.

“Just that Ori and I are in danger,” She told him, clearly still rattled by Frerin’s lack of tact and Thorin sighed.

“I know Ori was given to you after his parents were murdered,” Thorin revealed, watching as Bilbo tensed in surprise, “and I’d wager he was entrusted to you by a very young dwarf.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because their murderer reported their deaths,” Thorin told her, “and he’s returning to the mountain by way of Hobbiton.” Whatever color had been left to flush Bilbo cheeks fled at the news.

“He’s here?” Bilbo instinctually pulled her son closer to her and her eyes started darting around for anything that might be a danger to him.

“Only for the night,” Thorin assured her, “which means I must return to the mountain tonight. Gearin is going to stay with you until the dwarf and his group has moved on.” He began to turn away from the pair, but stopped when Bilbo laid a hand on his arm.

“Why won’t you stay?” She asked and Thorin found himself staring into large, confused and pleading brown eyes.

“I have to do everything I can to keep him from hurting you, or anyone else,” Thorin told her, “It’s my duty.”

“But why you?” Bilbo asked, “Why can’t you-.”

“Because he’s King,” Frerin told her from the doorway, “The king of Erebor.” Thorin bit back a course at his brother as Bilbo looked at Frerin in surprise, then snapping her head back to look at him as Frerin’s words sink in.

“King!”


	14. Taking Time

Thorin wanted nothing more than to retreat back to his warm bed in Bag End, curling up under the hand stitched quilt and ignoring the rest of the world. Instead, he was trapped in his stuffy council chamber and forced to listen to his council of lords complain about things that immeasurably failed to matter in the lives of their people.

“Emerald is the color attributed to my family,” One of the old lords argued, “His son’s wife has no right to wear it.”

“His wife is yer daughter ye daft bastard!” The lord in question, one of the few who had earned their titles on the road after Erebor fell, shouted back without taking his feet of the thick oaken table that sat in the center of the room. There was a trickle of muffled laughter from half of the old lords and outright guffaws from the entirety of the newly minted ones.

“Next time yer majesty chooses to honor my family,” Dwalin told him, “stuff it up yer arse.” Thorin was forced to muffle his laughter at Dwalin’s bluntness. Technically Dwalin’s older brother Balin was the lord, and was present, but Dwalin was required to be present at any council meeting as his brother’s heir. Thorin allowed the laughter and affronted shouting to continue, having no interest in such irrelevant disagreements, until a messenger appeared beside him with a missive announcing the arrival of Feir and his party. Thorin dismissed the young dwarf and pulled himself awkwardly out of his slouch, sending an obscene hand gesture at Dwalin when the other dwarf snickered.

“Lord Tourmaline,” Thorin finally interrupted loudly, silencing the entire room in less than two seconds. Admittedly that was one of his favorite parts about being king, “It is my understanding that the lady in question simply wore a gown edged in a ribbon that could be considered your color. As your daughter, whether you approved of the marriage or not, she fully has the right to wear a full gown in either family’s colors.” His decision should have automatically signaled an end to the meeting, but as he moved to stand the aggrieved lord chose to press his luck.

“But your majesty-”

“Now,” Thorin nearly roared over the lord’s outburst, “If you lordships will excuse me, I am afraid I am needed in greeting a noble visitor from the Iron Hills.” Without waiting for a reply, Thorin rose from his ornate chair and signaled for Dwalin to follow.

“Next time there’d better be at least two barrels of ale next to my chair,” Dwalin growled behind his king, “or I’m leav’n ya to fight them on yer own.”

“I may take a few barrels of my own,” Thorin assured his friend, “It would certainly make the meeting more tolerable. They might make a few things far more bearable.” Dwarves can normally hold their liquor like no other creature in Middle Earth, with the exception of those blasted elves, but Thorin could still feel the remnants of the headache he woken with after drinking away the sorrow of Bilbo’s reaction.

“She’ll come round,” Dwalin assured him, as if sensing the reason for his sudden change of mood, “just give it some time.”

“I don’t know if she will,” Throin admitted sadly, “We did not part on good terms.” Bilbo had retreated to Ori’s room without another word with a quiet swish of her skirts. The silence hadn’t left Thorin with many options, other than to continue packing. There was a moment where he heard Bilbo emerge from her son’s room and he nearly tripped on the rug in his haste to intercept her, but he made it into the hallway only to see her bedroom door closing behind her. Though he had fought in many battles in his life, the dwarf king lacked the courage to knock on his One’s door to beg for her forgiveness. Instead, his last act in Bag End was to write his apology out for Bilbo and leave it in the place she was most likely to see it, the kitchen table. He’d waited as long as he could spare, but eventually he was forced to head to the barn where Frerin had stabled his pony and begin the jurney back to his throne.

“Your majesty!” Thorin was pulled out of his memories by the same messenger from earlier sprinting to catch up to them.

“Yes,” He asked, politely waiting for the lad to catch his breath.

“Lord Balin requested I inform you that Lord Feir and his men have been settled into their chambers. They’ll arrive in the throne room within the hour.” The lad finished his message with a respectful bow and hurried off at Thorin’s nod of dismissal.

“Time to see a dept paid,” Thorin said, causing Dwalin to nod gravely and his meaty fists clenched around the handles of absent axes.

“I’ll be more than happy to collect,” he growled. Thorin smiled darkly and picked up the pace to reach the throne room.

“All in good time,” Thorin assured him, “We cannot simply kill him without tangible proof, or a confession, as much as we’d like to.”

“What’s the point of being a king if ye can’t kill a dwarf or two,” Dwalin grumbled, “Provided they’re ask’n for it.”

“That would not be justice,” Thorin informed him, allowing a little smugness into his voice. Dwalin just shrugged as he walked.

“It’d be simpler.”

“That it would,” Thorin murmured as he pushed open the throne room doors. Dwarves of every trade were bustling around the room, preparing the hall for the trial, and there were still things left to consider before Feir would be brought to justice for the slaughter of his kin in the name of greed. Most importantly would be deciding what would befall his children once their father’s head sat on a pike by the gates of Ered Luin.


	15. Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed while writing this chapter that I have been spelling Fíur's name as Feir. Just FYI so no one gets confused. Fíur is Kír's father and Ori's uncle. Enjoy!

 “Hail Thorin Oakenshield,” Fíur called as soon as he was through the door of the throne room, “King under the mountain.” Thorin fought the urge to role his eyes at the overdramatic display, expecially when the Iron Hill’s noble dropped into an exaggerated bow. Kir and the infant he held could be seen lingering near the door, as if waiting to flee. Thorin waved Dwalin over as Balin stepped forward to perform the traditional greeting usually reserved for foreign dignitaries, a calculated decision to play to the lord’s ego and give Thorin a moment to make any last minute adjustments to the plan.

                “Place a few guards to protect the children,” Thorin told Dwalin with a subtle wave towards Kir and the infant he held.

“You think he’ll make a run at them?” Dwalin asked with a frown.

“I think he’ll see them as perfect hostages against dwarves who would destroy the whole of Middle Earth to protect a child,” Thorin replied, “let alone two.” Dwalin nodded and soon there were a pair of guards standing next the nervous young dwarf, who relaxed minutely when one of the guards placed a gently hand on the youth’s shoulder. His protective instinct satisfied, Thorin returned his attention to the doomed dwarf standing before him.

                “Welcome Fíur of the Iron Hills,” Thorin greeted, purposely leaving off the honorific lord the dwarf would have expected and was rewarded when the other dwarf was not quite quick enough to cover his irritation at the slight, “I see you have added to your family.” Fíur glanced at his children, then dismissed them with an absent wave of his hand.

                “A girl,” Fíur told them, “Not much use and her birth took her mother’s life. I’ll have to find another now. At least I’ll be able to marry her off in a few years.” There was more than one clenched fist at the dismissal of the infant dwarrowdam and her poor mother, but Fíur seemed oblivious to the anger directed at him.

                “My condolences for the loss of your wife,” Thorin said, knowing the other dwarf hadn’t given a damn about the unfortunate dwarrowdam that had been coerced into marrying him, “and my congratulations on the blessing of a daughter.”

                “My thanks Your Majesty,” Fíur replied, with a smug tilt of his head.

                “It has been a long time since you were last in these halls,” Thorin told him, “and unfortunately your last arrival was tainted with tragedy.” Fíur nodded sadly, and Thorin might have believed him to be truly grieved by his brother’s death if he hadn’t known better.

                “My family is ever thankful for your kind aid in hunting the monsters that took our family from us,” Fíur simpered, making quite a few of the warriors surrounding him sneer in disgust at the blatant play for favor, “Despite their continued evasion.” Thorin wondered if Fíur was intentionally insulting, or if he was just utterly unaware of what he implies. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was ignorant to the meaning their words could have.

                “Your departure left my people with a few unanswered questions,” Thorin continued, smirking when Fíur paled just enough to notice, “Perhaps you can answer them?”

                “I will do my best Your Majesty,” Fíur replied.

                “You left only two days after you arrived,” Thorin observed, “Only long enough to gather new supplies. Why?”

                “Their deaths were a great blow to my family,” Fíur told him, “I was needed at my father’s side.”

                “Without even seeing your brother and his wife back to the stones?” Thorin asked, “Surely you could have waited another day.” It was a stretch of the truth, as Oin had ordered the bodies into the coldest chamber of the mountain to preserve them as long as possible. For three days Oin poured over the bodies, to find anything that might disprove Orcs as the cause of their deaths. Once he was finished, another experiences battlefield healer examined them and they came to the same conclusion. Oin and the other healer, Dongar, were waiting in the wings to rip through Fíur’s lies after far too long.

                “There was much to do in the Iron Hills,” Fíur argued, “Waiting would have done nothing.” There was some muttering in the observing crowd, mostly made up of fellow nobles, and most of it was not in favor of the dwarf standing alone in the middle of the room. Thorin sighed, already tired of speaking in circles and waved the two healers forwards.

                “Let us speak plainly,” Thorin said as Fíur glanced at the older dwarves who moved to stand clearly by the dais, “Do you still claim that Orcs were responsible for your brother and his wife?” Fíur looked almost offended at the question, making Thorin’s fists clench and the king nodded to Oin.

                “Their wounds reveal the truth!,” Fíur insisted, not knowing just how true his words were, “What other fate could have befallen them?”

                “The wounds on both bodies were inflicted by a clean, sharp straight blade,” Oin suddenly broke in, capturing the attention of the room, “None of which describe a typical Orc weapon.” Fíur took an involuntary step back as the room filled with the agitated chatter once again.

                “ Perhaps,” Fíur began, only to stop and lick suddenly dry lips, “Perhaps they had slaughtered others before my kin and used their weapons.”

                “Then explain the lack of defensive wounds on your brother!” Oin snapped, “I knew Ri when Erebor still flourished, and she would fight like a bear to protect her child.”

                “The Orcs must have caught them by surprise,” Fíur argued, “Ambushed them-”

                “Enough!” Thorin’s roar echoed through the halls and  everyone in the room went silent. If it was possible, Fíur went even paler at the sight of Thorin standing before his throne with Orcrist unsheathed, “We know it is a lie and I will not abide by it!”  There was a tense moment of silence before Fíur deflated, making Thorin and the sons of Fundin glance at each other suspiciously.

                “I have kept the truth about the death of my brother for six years,” Fíur admitted, sending tongues wagging once again, “and it weighs heavily on my heart.”

                “What happened that day?” Thorin asked him, wordlessly giving him one last opportunity to confess and earn a small fragment of mercy from the court.

                “My son,” Fíur said and swept his hand back to indicate the clearly terrified young dwarf, who frantically started shaking his head in denial, “He murdered them as they slept.” That had been the last thing that anyone had expected him to say, as evidenced by the silence that suddenly filled the room.

                “Does he actually expect us to believe that?” Dwalin muttered, shaking his head and looking at Thorin in disbelief. The king however was still staring at the dwarf who dared expected him to be dim-witted enough to believe such a blatant falsehood.

                “Your son,” Thorin said, glancing at the child who was now shaking so hard he was worried that the boy would drop his infant sister. Dori, who Thorin had expected to be forced to hold back during the proceedings, immediately rushed to the boy’s side and provided a much needed source of comfort.

                “I had suspected that Kír resented my brother’s marriage and the subsequent birth of my nephew,” Fíur insisted, “I never would have though them in any danger. If I had, perhaps they would still be with us to this day.” Fíur conveyed all the emotions expected of a pained father and grieving brother during his speech. However, it was clear to all present that it was all for show.

                “And as his father,” Thorin offered, “you felt you had to protect him.”

                “What else is a father to do?” Fíur asked raising his hands in a plaintive gesture.

                “What else indeed,” Thorin mused, “Kír step forward.” The boy shuffled forward, still shaking, and clutched the infant dwarrowdam close to his chest. Dori stepped forward and gently reached out for her, allowing Kír to hand her over rather than just take the infant. For his part, Kír only hesitated for a brief second to kiss his sister on the head like it was going to be the last time he saw her before he handed the child to Dori.

                “Your father claims you are responsible for the deaths of your aunt and uncle,” Thorin announced, “Is this true?” Kír frantically shook his head and was answered with a hit that would fell a grown man from his father.

                “Detain him,” Thorin roared to the dwarves surrounding the pair.

                “Confess your crimes,” Fíur shouted as the guards dragged him away from his cowering son, “I will not protect you any longer.” Thorin made his way down the few steps of the dais until he could stand next to the quivering boy. Gently, Thorin coaxed him to rise back up to standing until their eyes met.

                “This is not the first time your father has struck you,” Thorin observed as he examined the growing bruise on the young dwarf’s jaw as a loving uncle might. Kír began to look towards his father, but Thorin kept the light grip on his chin so he was forced to keep his eyes off his father, “Answer truthfully and I swear on Mahal himself that he will not hurt your or your sister again.” Hesitantly, Kír nodded and shrugged his outer coat far enough off his neck to show Thorin purpling bruise that had clearly been left by a heavy belt. Thorin could hear Dori swear in the background and Oin moved forward to examine him. Kír flinched when the healer touched him, but Oin spoke softly to the boy and Thorin could feel him relax minutely under the elder dwarf’s ministrations.

                “I’ve seen this before,” Oin said, “On women curling themselves over their children to protect them from a blow.” Any dwarf who was close enough to hear immediately gasped in horror and the words spread through the crowd faster than Smaug’s fire had razed the streets of Dale.

                “What happened to your aunt and uncle son?” Thorin asked, “If you are not to blame then no harm will come to you.” Kír stared intently at him for a few seconds, searching for the sign that he could be trusted in a way that proved he had never been shown before.

                “My father killed them,” he whispered finally, “for my grandfather’s wealth.”

                “You lying little wretch,” Fíur seethed as he struggled against the strong arms holing him captive, “I’ll whip your back raw before they lead you to the axe.” Kír shrank away from his father’s anger, unconsciously pressing into the security Thorin was doing his best to exude.

                “Where is your cousin little one?” Thorin asked, keeping a firm hand on the boys shoulder in silent support.

                “I left him in the care of a hobbit,” Kír admitted quietly, “named Baggins.” The room erupted in chatter as Thorin nodded once and led the still frightened child to Oin.

                “Traitorus little bastard,” Fíur screamed as he tore himself away from the restraining arms of the guards and launched himself at his son. Dwalin was instantly between his king and the threat, bringing Fíur down with a solid blow from the handle of his axe to the base of his skull.

                “Take that filth to the dungeon to await beheading in two days time,” Thorin proclaimed loudly, “Tomorrow I want his beard.” The last words were growled and met with a deafening cheer from the crowd, “Clear the hall.” As the citizens of Ered Luin filed out of the hall, more than one kicking the unconscious Fíur for good measure as they passed, Thoirn turned his attention back to Kír.

                “I have seen your cousin Ori,” Thorin told him, and was rewarded with a bright grin, “He is healthy and very happy.”

                “Thank you your majesty,” Kír said quietly. Thorin nodded once before returning to sit on his throne.

                “Now Kír, son of Fíur, we decide what will become of you.”


	16. From the Mouth of Babes

Thorin collapsed into the large chair behind his oak desk and cupped the ridge of his eyebrows in the web between his thumb and forefinger, waiting for the headache he could feel building.

                “Simple beheading is too kind for him,” Dori muttered as he swept into the room with the tiny dwarfling cradled lovingly in his arms, “He tortured his own child on a daily basis.” Balin sighed as he followed his husband into the king’s office.

                “Yes dear,” he agreed pulling out one of the large padded chairs for his husband before heading back out to find supplies so his husband could feed the infant, leaving Dori and Thorin alone.

                “How’s the lad?” Thorin asked the other dwarf. Kír had been entrusted to Oin to collect any evidence of abuse by his father. If Oin found that any of Kír’s bruises had been inflicted during the time they were in Thorin’s realm, then the court could charge him with abuse. A charge that carried a hundred lashes as punishment. Dori sighed and returned his gaze to the sleeping child in his arms.

                “Frightened,” Dori told him, “It took some convincing to get him to leave Sír with me while he’s being fed and with Oin.”

                “Sír, daughter of Fíur,” Thorin said as he rose from his chair and moved to examine the baby, “She’s beautiful.” Dori smiled widely, almost giddily, and kept his eyes locked on the little girl.

                “She truly is,” Dori turned his face up to look at his king, “Is there any family to care for them in the Iron Hills?”

                “The only family I know of is their grandfather,” Thorin told him, “Though I doubt he would be able to care for one so young. Kír is of an age that he may be considered an adult if he so chooses.”

“What about this little one?” Dori asked dropping his eyes back down to the infant.

“If Kír chooses to be seen as an adult, then her fate is his to decide.”  Thorin said as he trailed a finger down a baby soft cheek and smiled when the baby dwarrowdam instinctively turned towards his finger and puckered her lips to feed.

                “It appears I have perfect timing,” Balin said and held out the modified leather wine skin when Dori held out his hand for it. Within seconds the child was suckling greedily, making the three dwarves in the room wonder when her last meal had been, “We should have Oin examine her soon.” Thorin nodded in agreement.   

                “How long until Kír is finished with Oin?” Thorin asked his oldest confidant, “We need to discuss their return to the Iron Hills.”

                “It shouldn’t be much longer,” Balin told him, “The lad was wolfing down his meal like his sister is last I saw. Ah, speak of the devil.” Dwalin was pushing open the door to the study and urging Kír through, though the young dwarf was clearly hesitant. His eyes scanned the room, fixating on his sister when he finally saw her and his fingers twitched like he wanted to grab her and run. Dori, with what was probably the parental instinct Thorin had ever seen pushed out the chair next to him in a silent invitation for the lad to sit near the infant. After a moment’s hesitation, he slid into the large wing backed chair and stared at his lap, but scooted the chair ever so slightly closer to his sister. It was clear that the lad was much cleaner then he’d been during the trial and bruises in different stages of healing could be seen without a layer of travel dust concealing them.

                “Kír, son of Fíur,” Thorin started, instantly regretting the use of the title when the younger dwarf flinched violently, “You are safe here, I promise you.” The look Kír gave him told him that the young dwarf had no reason to trust him or anyone else, and Thorin cursed Fíur yet again for damaging the poor boy so thoroughly.

                “What happens now?” Kír asked quietly, before flinching when he remembered who he was speaking to, “my apologies your majesty.” Thorin waved away his concern.

                “You have every right to ask about your fate lad,” He assured the younger dwarf, “and that fate is entirely up to you.” Kír looked up in confusion and scanned the room for any hint of deception in the faces of the dwarves around him.

                “Other than your grandfather,” Balin asked kindly, “do you have any family in the Iron Hills?”

                “Grandfather died two months ago,” Kír told them, “It’s the reason we traveled here. So father could be recognized as successor to his father’s title.”

                “No other family?” Balin pressed. Kír shook his head sadly and returned his gaze to the floor.

                “They’ll stay with us then,” Dori said firmly, glaring at his husband when the other opened his mouth to speak and handed him the infant dwarf. Balin quietly protested, but pulled the helpless babe close to his chest regardless.

                “Dori it’s his-,” Thorin began.

                “His decision,” Dori finished, “I know, but he deserves to hear all his options.” Done with the king, Dori turned his attention back to the child, teen, in the middle of the room.

                “Dori,” Balin said before his husband could speak, “Whatever you want is what we’ll do. With Kír’s agreement of course.” Dori looked at his husband with pride and gratitude before returning his attention to the boy.

                “Kír, you are old enough to make your own choices,” Dori told him as he pulled his chair over until they were sitting face to face, “You can choose to become an adult and either give up or raise your sister.” Kír kept his face firmly pointed at his lap, but his fists clenched tightly in fear or anger.

                 “Adad never let me follow my craft,” He said quietly, ignoring the gasps of shock and growls of anger. He was well past the age where a child would be called to a craft and keeping a dwarfling from embracing that craft was one of the cruelest things that could be done, “We’d starve.”

                “That would not happen,” Thorin assured him, “You would be found an apprenticeship and provided for until you are able to provide for yourself.”

                “Or,” Dori said, “You and Sír can choose to join my family.” Kír snapped his head up in shock and Thorin was once again reminded just how young the lad was. He would be no older than sixteen in the years of men and could be as young as fourteen. Balin took the moment of stunned silence to slip into his husband’s vacated chair.

                “Dori and I would be thrilled to have the pair of you become our children,” the king’s advisor told the startled dwarfling, “I’m sure Dori is already planning all the different ways he can decorate your rooms.” The dwarf in question glared at his husband, but didn’t disagree.

                “You don’t have to choose right now,” Dori assured the still staring teenage dwarf, “It’s a large decision and-,”

                “You’d really keep us?” Kír blurted out quickly, “Like a real family?” Dori and Balin’s eyes softened even further at the timid hope in the boy’s voice.

                “Of course my boy,” Balin said placing a supporting hand on his shoulder, “Though you’d have to deal with Dwalin as an uncle.”

                “Oi!” Dwalin objected, drawing a chuckle from the boy he really hoped would become his nephew. He knew how much Dori and Balin wanted children.  Kír glanced at the hopeful faces watching him before he threw himself forward into Dori’s arms.

                “I’ll be a good son,” Kír told him with a cracking voice, “I promise.”

“You already are, “ Dori assured him as he pulled the younger dwarf more firmly against him and ignored the wet spot on his shoulder that was steadily getting bigger as the boy cried away his worries, “Your father was just too much of a fool to see it.” Thorin rose from his chair and walked over to clap his friend gently on the back in congratulations.

“When you’re finished here,” Thorin told him, “Add them to the city census as your children.”

“As the king wills,” Thorin ignored the way his friend’s voice cracked as he recited the traditional words and simply squeezed the other dwarf’s shoulder. There was a near frantic knock on the door and Thorin frowned when Balin tried to get up to answer it.

“Keep the room,” Thorin told him and nodded to Dwalin who was not moving closer to his brother to coo at his new niece, “I’ll take business of state in the throne room. See your family settled.” Thorin waved off Dwalin when the other dwarf made to follow him from the inner chamber and opened the door to relieve the runner of his message. The young dwarrowdam was clearly surprised to see the king answer the door, but collected herself quickly and blurted her message before the door was firmly closed behind the king.

“Fíur has escaped custody my king.”


	17. Brief Autonomy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter this time

“How did this happen?” Thorin snarled as he strapped on his armor. Dwalin and Balin stood nearby, neither one particularly pleased at being pulled away from their newest family members, but ecstatic at the idea that they would be able to hunt Fíur down like the coward he was.

                “He was with the healers for his injury and slipped away when he was thought to still be unconscious,” The head of the dungeon guards said. Thorin glared at Dwalin, who shrugged unapologetically.

                “Hitting things is kind of in my job description,” Dwalin told him and Thorin barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the other dwarf.

                “Send a raven to my brother at the hobbit home by the name Bag End. Tell him what has transpired,” Thorin told a runner who immediately took off for the Raven Hatchery, “Any indication he has fled the city?”

                “Not that we know of,” Dwalin told him before he turned to his brother, “Where are the children?”

                “Dori took them home to get them settled,” Balin replied, “They should be there by now.”

                “We’ll check there first and leave a few guards for their protection before we complete a search of the city,” Thorin told them and began the march into the streets.

                “I have a feeling Fíur will wish the city guards had found him first if Dori gets a hold of him,” Balin muttered, earning a chuckle from his brother.

                “That husband of yours does have a temper,” Dwalin said, “and the strength to back it.” With that, the trio fell to silence as they marched through the streets at the head of a troop of guards. They were just turning the corner onto the street where Balin and Dori had made their home when a body was flung from the top floor window of the advisor’s home hard enough to slam into the stone of the home across the road.

                “Found him,” Dwalin quips as the rest of the group watched Dori storm out of the house, rolling pin in hand, and pick Fíur up by the scruff of his neck.

                “Is someone going to take this thing off my hands?” Dori bellowed as he shook the battered dwarf like a terrier would shake a rat, “Or would you just prefer to stare?” A few of the guards stumbled forward to take the injured dwarf into official custody.

                “My lord,” One of the guards said to Balin as he walked past, “You are a very lucky dwarf.” Balin puffed up in pride while Dori railed on the barely conscious dwarf for frightening his children and interrupting tea time.

                “Yes I am,” Balin replied. A glance back up at the window Fíur had forcibly exited revealed a beaming Kír and Balin’s breath caught at the full brilliance of his son’s first smile. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up into the grinning face of his younger brother.

                “I don’t think he doubts his place in our family anymore,” the younger son of Fundin told the older.

                “Knowing Dori and I will protect them is a step in the right direction,” Balin said, “But there’s much healing to be done before he’s entirely ready to trust us, even if he wants to.”

                “Have the healers see to him when he’s chained to his cell this time,” Thorin ordered as the guards dragged the injured dwarf past them, “Balin, Dwalin, go spend time with your family.”

                “Aye sire,” Dwalin answered, Balin having already made it inside his home before the king had finished speaking, “ye’ll not be needing me?”

                “I have my own family to see to my friend,” Thorin told him, “Hopefully Dori and Nori will meet their brother soon.” Thorin suddenly  frowned.

                “What’s wrong?” Dwalin asked with his own frown.

                “Where’s Nori? I thought he’d be here to see his mother’s killer to justice,” Thorin replied.

                “He said something about a job last I saw him,” Dwalin said, “That were a day or two ago.”


	18. Foundling for the Second Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!! I have finished my first year of my doctorate program and I have a short break. So I'm back, however temporarily, and I hope to get more of this story done. Hopefully I'll finish it, but I can't make any promises. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and patiently waiting for an update. I hope you enjoy this next little chapter!

Nori watched as the hobbit woman carried his brother up to the door of a building with a sign proclaiming it to be Baggins Sweet Shop alongside another woman who didn’t look entirely hobbit. For someone who spent his life in the shadows the market in Hobbiton was a nightmare of exposure, and Nori had spent his life hiding. His normally distinctive hair was flattened and secreted under a light travel hood, but the peculiar shade of his eyes were impossible to disguise. It was still early enough in the morning that the majority of the comfort loving race was still abed, so it was the only time Nori would have a chance of making it into the bakery unseen. The probability that the door would be locked was high, but a locked door had never stopped the spymaster before.

The dash across the open air market went better than Nori had hoped, and soon he was at the front door of the sweet shop. Inside he could hear the two women speaking, though it was too muffled to make out and a glance through the window gave Nori the first glimpse of his baby brother. Nori felt his heart rate pick up at the sight of the tiny dwarfling that looked so like his deceased mother, and couldn’t fight back the tears that built up in the back of his eyes. The little boy was engrossed in a pile of what looked like yarn with an adorable look of concentration on his face whenever he hit a knot. Eventually Ori would call out for mama, and that made Nori twinge every time he heard it, until the hobbit woman from earlier came out to help.

Nori wasn’t sure how long he watched his brother and the hobbit he called mother, or when his survival instincts disappeared, but he knew it had been too long when he felt the war club tap him lightly on the temple.

“I’ll wait fer a good reason yer watchin’ my family before I knock ye sensless,” a deep voice growled. The club thumped against his head when he didn’t respond fast enough for the owner of the voice. Nori was surprised, but strangely not, to come face to face with another dwarf when he finally turned around. The dwarf in question was large and had the look of the guards Nori had avoided like a plague when he was younger, before he had become the ears of the king. White haired, but clearly not yet into his dotage, he was not someone Nori wanted to tangle with on even footing. Much to the spymaster’s surprise, the dwarf lowered his club minutely when he caught sight of Nori’s face.

“What’s yer name?” The dwarf asked, sounding a little less violent than the first time he spoke, “and yer mother’s.” Nori glared at the dwarf in response. Nori wasn’t an entirely uncommon name, but Ri was widely known for her beauty and royal connections. Once Nori revealed his mother’s name, the dwarf would be able to look for him anywhere.

“Nori,” another voice interjected with a trace of humor, “Son of Ri.” Nori looked up to see the dwarf who was currently third in line for the throne. Frerin grinned at finally getting the drop on Eird Luin’s famous spymaster and sauntered up to the other dwarf.

“I’ll vouch for his character,” Frerin told the strange dwarf, “What little character he has at least.” Frerin snorted at the glare Nori sent his way, and the former thief was surprised to see the older dwarf smile.

“Name’s Gearin,” the other dwarf revealed, “That was my great nephew you were gawk’n at and his safety is not something we take lightly.” Nori nodded his agreement, beyond grateful that his brother had been so well protected all these years and watched as Gearin walked into the shop just as the hobbit woman came out of the kitchen with a steaming tray of muffins. She glanced at the window when Gearin stuck his thumb over his shoulder and Nori waved sheepishly, surprised when her gaze softened and she waved him in. He stumbled towards the door and nearly tripped on the threshold, he ignored the snort that burst out of Frerin at the sight. Once he made it inside, he was assaulted with the delicious smells that are commonly associated with bakeries. The smells made his stomach stand up and take notice, but his eyes were fixed on the small dwarfling playing on a spread blanket. His attention was only drawn away when his little brother’s hobbit mother appeared next to him.

“Bilbo Baggins,” she said, “my condolences on the loss of your mother.”

“Thank you,” Nori replied, pushing away the ache her words brought back to the surface, “And for caring for Ori. Knowing he’s been safe and loved all this time helps.” The pair stood in silence for a moment, watching Ori play with his knitting supplies.

“Would you like to meet him?” Bilbo asked suddenly, prompting Nori to look at her in surprise, shocked that she would let him near her child so soon, and nodded.  The hobbit led him over and politely bullied him into sitting on the blanket next his brother. The child was close enough to touch and he had to physically hold himself back from reaching out as the hobbit explained to Ori just who Nori was. Ori peered at him quizzically for a while before he suddenly crawled into Nori’s lap and held up a particularly tangled bundle of yarn in an unspoken demand.

“Need some help,” Nori asked, and the rest of the occupants in the room didn’t mention the crack in his voice. Ori nodded and pushed the bundle at Nori again, “Let’s see if we can get this sorted out for you.” Nori spent the rest of the day untangling yarn while his little brother stayed on his lap, periodically munching on a plate of pastries Bilbo brought over for them. It was easily the best day Nori had had in six years.


	19. To Leave or Remain

Frerin paced outside his future sister’s home, warring on whether or not to give Bilbo the letter he was holding. The blood red wax that sealed the letter with the crest of the royal high court stood out harshly against the soft cream of the parchment, constantly drawing Frerin’s gaze, and the words inside made his blood heat to a boil. A child’s high pitched laugh floated out through the open window forced Frerin’s hand, and he marched unhappily to the door.

“Frerin!” Bilbo cried happily when she saw him, her hands coated in flour, “You’re just in time for tea.” Bilbo slid a tray of biscuits into the brick stove and dusted her hands off. Nori was juggling four of Ori’s smaller balls of yarn, making the little boy shriek with laughter, and ignored Frerin when the prince sat at the table.

“We have word from the mountain,” Frerin finally told him after a few quiet minutes full of childish joy, and was impressed when Nori never faltered in his juggling.

“And?” Nori asked, still keeping most of his focus on entertaining his brother while Bilbo and Thistle hustled around the kitchen to prepare tea for the group.

“The court wants to inspect Ori,” Frerin told him, “to confirm that he is your brother.”

“The word of the King isn’t enough?” Nori asked incredulously, “Or Dori’s?” Frerin sighed, dearly wishing there was a pint of ale in front of him. As if reading his mind, Thistle glided in and set a cup of tea on the table. While it wasn’t ale, it was hot, sweet and exactly what he needed. Thistle accepted his thanks with a kiss to his forehead and headed back to the kitchen to help Bilbo prepare for dinner.

“Dori is a respected dwarf,” Frerin assured Nori, “But his judgment could be impaired by his grief, and Thorin could be said to be blinded by the presence of his One.”

“Why does it matter?” Nori asked, keeping his tone as light as possible to keep his little brother unaware of the sudden tension.

“Because the court wants to charge him with Ori’s murder,” Frerin told him, “Along with the murder of his parents, but Fíur is arguing that the boy’s alive and is claiming that Ori is just a hobit child Dori and the King have convinced themselves is the son of Ri.”

“Didn’t Thorin already call for his beard and head?”  Frerin groaned and dropped his head to his hands, nodding into them.

“When the high court heard that Ori was in the custody of Thorin’s One, they voided the sentence on the grounds that Thorin may not be able to be completely objective.”

“Fíur still wants to kill Ori doesn’t he?” Nori asked suddenly and Frerin nodded.

“That’s my thinking,” Frerin admitted, “We’ll have to stay close to Bilbo and Ori if they answer the summons.” Nori muttered something rather brutal in Kadzul and Frerin couldn’t find it in himself to disagree. Before anymore could be said, Bilbo and emerged from the kitchen laden with the fixings for a hobbit style tea. There was the usual small talk, mainly for Bilbo to get to know more about Nori and his family. Finally at the end of tea, once Frerin had helped the ladies clear the table and cleanup, he pulled out the letter. Bilbo was settled into his arm chair with Ori in her lap while he played with his yarn and Nori looked a little disgruntled that he’d been abandoned by his brother.

“I received a letter from the mountain today,” Frerin started. It may have been a bit of an abrupt beginning as Bilbo jolts in surprise, prompting Ori to look at her in concern.

“Mama okay?” Ori asked . Bilbo smiled at her little boy and tickled his pudgy baby belly to make him squirm and giggle.

“Mama’s fine little love,” Bilbo told him, placing a soft kiss to his hair and turned her attention back to Frerin, “Well?”

“A dwarf named Fíur has been arrested for the murder of Ori’s parents,” Frerin told her, not surprised when her eyes went wide with surprise. Clearly she had been expecting the letter to be from Thorin, “his son Kíur claims he was the one who brought Ori to you.” Once again, Bilbo’s eyes went wide and she glanced down at the little boy still sitting calmly in her lap, though he was looking more and more like he was heading for a nap.

“Is he alright?” Bilbo asked quietly earning a confused frown from the three people around her, “Kíur? Is that what it was? It’s just… he looked so young when I saw him.” The confused looks cleared quickly and were replaced with looks of understanding.

“He was abused by his father,” Frerin told her and paused when both the hobbits gasped, “but he and his infant sister are in the care of their new family.”

“Which family?” Nori asked, knowing it would have to be a family well known to the courts for them to have taken permanent custody so fast. Frerin shook his head and help up the letter from the court for him to read.

“There’s no mention of a name in the official letter,” Frerin told him, “or in Thorin’s.” Nori nodded and Frerin knew he was thinking of his brother and Balin and their desire for a full family.

“What now?” Thistle asked, “Do they want Ori back with his brothers?”

“No,” Nori said firmly, making a dozing Ori jolt awake and he lowered his voice, “Not that we don’t want him, but you became his mother the moment you took him in. He needs to stay with you.” Both Bilbo and Thistle looked a little watery eyed at his pronouncement, and even Nori appeared to be fighting back his own emotions.

“Is anyone going to fight him staying here?” Bilbo asked quietly. Nori and Frerin both shook their heads.

“Nori and Dori are the only dwarves in the mountain that have any kind of claim to him,” Frerin assured her, “If they don’t fight to get him back-”

“Which we won’t,” Nori interrupted, earning a glare from Frerin. Nori just shrugged in response and went back to cleaning his lock picks.

“If they don’t fight for him,” Frerin continued, “Then there is no reason he should be returned to the mountain.”

“But there’s a reason you’re telling us,” Thistle pressed, “If it was just that, then you wouldn’t have waited to tell us.”

“They want Ori to come to the mountain,” Frerin said, hurrying to continue when Bilbo looked close to panicking, “Just to confirm his identity. The high court doesn’t believe Dori or Thorin can be completely objective.” Bilbo and Thistle both nodded in understanding.

“If they can determine that Ori isn’t who he is,” Nori stated, with a pause for everyone to figure out what he’d actually said, “then they can add his murder to the list of charges.” The group sat in silence for a few minutes before Bilbo spoke up.

“Can you guarantee that they won’t try to take Ori from me?”

“I can’t promise they won’t try,” Frerin told her, “But I can promise you they will not succeed.” Nori nodded.

“They won’t stand a chance against Dori, Frerin Thorin and me,” Nori assured her, “No one’s taking your boy from you.” They sat for a while with just the crackle of the fire to fill the comfortable silence the party had fallen into. It wasn’t until Ori’s head settled on his mother’s shoulder and stayed there while the room filled with the sound of toddler snores.

“We’ll leave the day after tomorrow,” Bilbo told them, standing with the sleeping toddleri in her arms, “Can you run the shop while I’m away Thistle.”

“Of course,” Thistle told her, “I’ll get Rosemary to help. She’s been begging to get out of the house recently.” Thistle hugged her adult cousin and pressed a kiss into the hair of her little, sleeping one before she headed out the door. If she was the cause of Frerin’s jump and blush as he rubbed a sore spot on his bum, neither one was talking.

Frerin followed her as she put Ori to bed while Nori disappeared into his own room. He watched from the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as she tucked him under the covers and wish him a quiet goodnight.

“You don’t have to do this,” Frerin told her, “The court has more than enough evidence to convict Fíur and call for his death.”

“This has nothing to do with him,” Bilbo admitted, “I want to see Kíur. The court can observe Ori, but he never leaves my side.”

“I can promise you that,” Frerin told her.


	20. Some Change is Good

The next morning Bilbo began to pack what was needed for a week in the mountains for herself and her son. Nori had ridden ahead to inform the court of their imminent arrival, but Frerin had stayed to act as guard and guide during the trip. Unfortunately for him, Bilbo had roped him into helping her pack.

“Is it cold in the mountain?” She asked Frerin as the dwarf did his best to fold Ori’s tiny clothes before placing them in the travel packs. Bilbo was critically peering at the only winter coat Ori had, which was suitable for the mild winters of the Shire, but might be too much for the mountain.

“Bring it,” Frerin told her, “It can get colder in the lower chambers, but his knits should be fine for the outer chambers.” Bilbo nodded and placed the coat off to the side to keep it accessible on the trip to the mountain. After a few minutes of checking for suitability with Frerin and packing the approved pieces the pair was interrupted by a pounding at the front door. With a frown, Bilbo sets the small pair of trousers she was examining for tears on the bed and wanders out to the entryway.

“Lobelia,” Bilbo exclaimed in surprise when she saw who was standing at the door and stepped aside to let her in.

“Are we leaving today or tomorrow?” Lobelia asked without preamble, “I can be ready within the hour if necessary, but tomorrow would be better.” Bilbo looked at her second closest cousin, flabbergasted at the line of questioning.

“Tommorow,” Bilbo finally stuttered out when Lobelia raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “but-”

“Then I will meet you here in the morning,” Lobelia declared and began to walk back out the door. Bilbo managed to shake off her shock to catch up to her cousin before she could make it through the gate to the front garden.

“Lobelia!” She called, ecstatic when the other hobbit turned around and gave her a minute to catch up. Bilbo was careful to step around the mud that had gathered from that morning’s watering and went to stand next to her fence.

“How did you know we were going to the mountain?” Bilbo asked and Lobelia sighed.

“I went to the shop this morning for muffins and Thistle told me,” Lobelia told her and she sighed, “I know everything has been madness since those dwarves showed up, but you absolutely cannot go to the mountain without a chaperone.”

“Lobelia,” Bilbo sighed, knowing the other hobbit was right, “Thank you. I hadn’t even thought of that, but I’m sure my Took-”

“I think my True Home is a dwarf,” Lobelia suddenly burst out, slapping a hand over her mouth as if she hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. Bilbo looked at her in absolute shock, before her face fell into something more like sympathy. Bilbo’s parents, even her mildly stuffy Baggin’s father, had lovingly embraced all her eccentricities and Lobelia’s had lectured out anything that could be considered unhobbitish. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is known throughout the Shire to more Baggins than the Bagginses, which is no mean feat, and Bilbo wonders how much of that was just an act. There were tears in Lobelia’s eyes when Bilbo managed to get her thoughts in order and she immediately grabbed her cousin in a warm hug. The other hobbit just wilted into the embrace the second Bilbo’s arms closed around her and for the first time Bilbo realized Lobelia was actually smaller than her.

“Pack a warm coat,” Bilbo told her and pulled back so she could look in her eyes, sniffling a little in an effort to fight back some tears of her own, “Apparently it gets a little chilly in the lower chambers. Lobelia immediately brightened at Bilbo’s words and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you Bilbo,” Lobelia whispered and she daintily sped down the lane. Bilbo watched her until she was nothing more than a dark spot against the distant sky and walked back inside Bagend to finish packing.

                “Lobelia’s coming with us,” she told Frerin when she made it back into the room, first pausing a moment to enjoy the spectacle that was Frerin attempting to fold toddler clothes. Frerin jumped, cursed and dropped the shirt he was holding.

                “Mahal,” Frerin breathed with a hand on his chest, Bilbo was busy doing her best to stifle her giggles behind her hands, “Stop doing that.” Bilbo had discovered pretty early on that despite the dwarves being legendary warriors, it was very easy for hobbits to sneak up on them.

                “Sorry,” Bilbo managed to get out between giggles and moved to stand in her original spot, “I promise I’m not doing it on purpose.” Frerin snorted, making Bilbo dissolve into giggles once again and he leaned over to wrap his arm around her shoulder in a half hug.

                “I know little sister,” he told her, “But I want to see if you can do it to Dwalin.” Bilbo glared at him, huffing a little before she turned away to ignore him while he threw his head back and laughed.

                When Thistle brought Ori home that night, and stayed for dinner to speak to Bilbo about running the sweet shop, Bilbo explained where they were going. Ori was ambivalent to the course of events, as most children tended to be, but seemed to cling closer to his mother for the rest of the night and did his best to stay awake as long as he could.

                The next morning dawned brightly, but for the small cloud that hung over Ori. A cloud that lifted slightly when he saw Lobelia was already waiting in the wagon that was going to carry them to the mountain, and dissipated completely when he was told Thorin would be waiting for them in the palace. A fact that pleased the tiny boy, but led to very confused emotions in his mother. Bilbo knew she loved Thorin and was nearly positive that the dwarven king was her One True Home, not that she’d told him that yet, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to do with that fact. Thorin had a duty to his people and his family, a duty that meant he was destined for a specific future, but Bilbo wasn’t sure she could be a part of that future. She had no desire to be queen and that would be her role if she wanted to be with Thorin. Ori crawled into her lap, where he promptly fell asleep, and drew her mind back to what was happening around her.  She and Lobelia spoke quietly for the remainder of the trip, keeping to safe topics such as cooking and knitting to avoid the more sensitive topics neither hobbit wished to discuss. Their conversation lasted until the gates of the city appeared in their view.

                “Welcome to Eerd Luin!” Frerin’s voice was shocking in the previous silence, but full of joy at the sight of his home. Bilbo and Lobelia stared at the massive gates in awe as they passed through, and even Ori woke up and began babbling excitedly.

                “It is good to see you again Miss. Baggins,” a familiar dwarf told Bilbo as he helped her out of the wagon, first by taking Ori in one arm and then offering his other hand to ease her decent, “I doubt you remember me, but-”

                “It’s Balin isn’t it,” Bilbo asked as she took her son from the dwarf’s arms, “You and your husband, Dori, came to my sweet shop.” Bilbo was rewarded with a bright smile from the dwarf and he nodded excitedly.

                “I’m surprised you remember me,” Balin told her, “But I’m very glad you do.”

                “You and Dori are hard to forget,” Bilbo told him with a smile of her own, and hitched Ori higher onto her hip as she spoke, “I remember how Dori looked at Ori and how much he wanted children of his own.”  Balin’s grin seemed even brighter after that statement.

                “He’s not wanting anymore,” Balin told her with a sly glint in his eye, but gently took her elbow to lead her and Ori away from the wagon before she could say anything, “The high court is already together. Best get this out of the way, before moving on to more pleasant matters.” Bilbo opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again when they began moving forward, only looking back to confirm that Lobelia was following behind.

                It took them very little time, through many twists and turns, to reach the room the lords were gathered, but Bilbo hesitated once they reached the door. Despite the assurances from Frerin that they wouldn’t take Ori from her, that they wouldn’t even try, a small part of her was still terrified that they would. The instant the doors opened, the attention of ten dwarven lords was fixed on her and the toddler in her arms.

                “Well met,” One of the lords called out after a moment of stunned silence and he walked up to offer the hobbit his hand. Bilbo took it and was surprised when the dwarf shook her hand very gently, “Tourmaline! Get yer ar-,” he cut himself off with a quick glance at Ori and cleared his throat, “self over here.” One of the dwarves separated from the group and stopped next to the first dwarf

The dwarven lord looked closely at Ori, who stared right back curiously, before he puffed out a disappointed sigh.

“Damn,” he huffed, “He is the son of Ri.”

“Damn!” Ori squeaked out excitedly, looking up at his mother expectantly. Instead of the usual praise he received for learning a new word, Ori got his pacifier gently pushed back into his mouth. He frowned at his mother, who frowned comically back and Ori let out a childish squeal of delight that brought a smile to everyone in the room, “Damn!” The dwarf lord who had first uttered the word flushed bright red and was wilted under the combined glares of everyone in the room.

“Well,” Balin said suddenly, clapping his hands together softly, “Now that we’ve finished with all that nonsense, let’s get you over to see the one you actually came here for.” Bilbo brightened at his words and followed his lead towards the person she’d actually visited the mountain to see, but Balin stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” She asked and peered around the dwarf. She had to hold back a laugh when she saw the dwarf standing in stunned silence, staring at a slightly uncomfortable looking Lobelia.

“This is going to be interesting,” Balin sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN!!!!! Who's the dwarf staring at Lobelia? Which Dwarf has Lobelia for his One???? Who do you think it is?


	21. BONUS!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! I'm coming to the end of my school session, but I still have a few weeks of finals left. For everyone who's been waiting patiently, a quick bonus chapter since I left off on a cliffhanger. Enjoy!!

               “What do I do?” Lobelia hissed to her cousin as they walked a few paces behind the dwarves, wincing when the dwarf of her dreams nearly slammed into a stone pillar because he was looking over his shoulder at her.

                “Why are you asking me?” Bilbo asked, keeping a firm hold on Ori, who was twisting around in an attempt to see everything around them, “Stop squirming love.”

                “You’ve already got your dwarf,” Lobelia told her, peeking through her lashes every so often at the burly dwarf who’d caught her eye.

                “Dwalin,” Balin finally barked when Dwalin nearly tripped on an uneven patch of floor and had to catch himself on his older brother, “I’ll let you fall next time if you don’t keep your eyes fixed on your path. I promise she’ll run straight back to the shire if you don’t stop staring.” Lobelia blushed as Balin’s words had the opposite effect and Dwalin’s head snapped back to look at her with a look of horror.               “She won’t run,” Bilbo assured the burly dwarf who looked like he just might cry, “She wouldn’t leave until she can bake you her famous seed cake.” Bilbo dodged the kick her cousin sent at her shin and set Ori down to walk when he pointed at a nearby statue.

                “T’orin mama!” Ori said pointing at the statue of a dwarf that did look incredibly like Thorin, but older and far more worn.

                “Thror actually,” A familiar voice echoed down the hall. Ori spun to look and squealed when he recognized the speaker.

                “T’orin!”


	22. If we had world enough and time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell

                “Thorin!” Balin said in surprise when he saw his king, “I had thought you spending the day in the forges.

                “As did I,” Thorin admitted. Bilbo could still see the smudges of soot in his hands and the beads of sweat on his brow, “One of the high court’s messengers informed me that my presence was requested in the courtroom.” It wasn’t difficult to tell from Thorin’s tone that he was less than pleased with the court’s request. Bilbo frowned.

                “Can’t you say no?” Bilbo asked, causing everyone but Dwalin to look at her. Dwalin was still too busy staring at Lobelia to be bothered, “You are the king.” Thorin smiled at her, making Bilbo smile shyly back.

                “A king is nothing without his people,” Thorin told her, “Their needs come above all else.” Now that Thorin was closer, Bilbo could see just how worn he appeared, as if a week in the mountain had aged him years past what he had been in Hobbiton. His appearance and words immediately told Bilbo that the king did not take care of himself when he wasn’t forced to. She chanced a quick look at Balin, who was frowning much in the same way she was and she wondered how often Balin was forced to put his foot down so Thorin could get some rest.

                “What does the council want now?” Balin asked, drawing attention back to the matter at hand. Thorin sighed and wiped his hands on a dampened rag Bilbo hadn’t realized he was carrying.

                “To begin the trial most likely,” Thorin replied, “No one in this mountain wishes a kin killer to live longer than he has too.” Both Lobelia and Bilbo flinched hard at the blunt implication of what was to come, Bilbo more so than Lobelia, but neither entirely disagreed with the sentiment.

                “I don’t blame ‘em,” Dwalin finally muttered, having slipped a little closer to Lobelia during her flinch. Thorin looked at his friend and frowned when he saw the other dwarf’s proximity to the hobbit.

                “What are you doing Dwalin,” Thorin asked with an arched brow, making both Dwalin and Lobelia blush.

                “Nothin’,” Dwalin muttered, sounding very much a child who has been caught in some mischief by his mother. Thorin’s eyes darted between the hobbit and his friend, his smile widening as he realized exactly why Dwalin was acting abnormally and Balin interrupted him before he could do more than open his mouth.

                “We’ll,” Balin said, drawing the king’s attention back to him, “We will not delay you further.” Thorin nodded and turned to Bilbo, “It is good to see you again Miss. Baggins. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.” Bilbo smiled softly at him and hid her shaky hands in the folds of her skirts.

                “Bilbo, please,” she told him, “and I would like to speak with you in private when possible.” Thorin nodded, Dwalin actually managed to tear his gaze away from Lobelia to look flabbergasted, and even Balin looked a little surprised.

                “Of course,” Thorin told her, unable to completely hide his relief at the allowance at such familiarity, “I would not be surprised if the council requires your presence at the trial, so be prepared to receive the summons.” Bilbo nodded with a slightly confused frown, but softened when her son stumbled over to her rubbing his eyes. Ori sluggishly held up his arms in a silent plea to be held, and every adult in the room melted. It was the easiest thing in the world to reach down and pluck the exhausted toddler and settle him on her hip. The warm look that Thorin gave them when the boy rested his head on her shoulder forced her to hide another smile. Just because she had made the decision to forgive her True Home, didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him. She was a Took as well as a Baggins after all.

                “Thank you for the warning,” Bilbo told him, “I should get someone someplace he can take a nap.” Thorin and Balin both nodded before the white haired dwarf spoke.

                “I would be happy to show you ladies to your rooms,” Balin told the two hobbits. Lobelia’s head snapped towards him and she hurried to stand next to her cousin.

                “We’ll be sharing a room,” Lobelia said quickly and linked her arm through Bilbo’s, “For propriety, of course.” A quick pinch to Bilbo’s arm had her nodding her head in agreement, though she would have agreed anyway. None of the dwarves looked put out and Dwalin even looked smug for some odd reason.

                “That’s not a problem,” Balin assured the pair, “A three room suite was set aside for you as soon as you replied to the letter.”

                “Thank you,” Bilbo said before Lobelia could say anything else and turned to Thorin, “I’ll speak to you later?”

                “Of course,” Thorin replied quickly, “As soon as I get a moment’s peace, I am yours.” Bilbo nodded and quickly caught the tiny hand that was beginning to pull down her blouse as the sleeping owner tried to snuggle into it as if it were a blanket. Lobelia was quick to toss her soft yarn shawl over Ori and worked his hand free from Bilbo’s blouse so he could tangle his fingers in that instead.

                “Thank you,” Bilbo said with a smile and turned to follow Balin and Lobelia down the hall.


	23. Getting to Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support and my apologies for taking so long between updates. I just finished up a few weeks of midterms and had a light weekend. I am nearly halfway through with my doctorate program, but it is exhausting work. So please bear with me, I will finish this story, but it may take a bit. And thank you to tleia for reminding me that I still have work to do. Enjoy!!

“Why was Dwalin looking so smug cousin?” Bilbo asked quietly to avoid waking the sleeping child on her shoulder. Lobelia flushed brilliantly and glanced at Balin, before ducking her head.

                “I may have agreed to walk with him later this evening,” Lobelia admitted, biting her lip lightly, “Provided there’s a proper chaperone of course.”

                “Do dwarves require a chaperone?”Bilbo asked, honestly curious from an academic standpoint as well as for her cousin. Lobelia looked lost for a moment, like the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind, before she shook her head.

                “I don’t know,” Lobelia admitted. Bilbo knew her next suggestion would go against Lobelia’s stubborn ideal of never asking for help. A gift from her proud mother no doubt, and insisting she come to the mountain with Bilbo had already pressed it.

                “You should ask Balin about the traditions involved in dwarven courting,” Bilbo told her after a quick glance told her they were far enough away not to be heard by the dwarf in question, “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to tell you what to expect from his brother.” Lobelia started shaking her head so fast Bilbo was worried she would faint.

                “I couldn’t,” Lobelia told her, sounding so nervous that Bilbo wondered where her feisty cousin had disappeared to, “Perhaps there’s a book I can read after we return to the Shire.” That just wouldn’t do, Bilbo thought.

                “Here we are,” Balin told them as he suddenly stopped in front of a large wooden door that reminded her of home, “We left the balcony doors open to air out the room.”

“It’s stunning,” Lobelia breathed the second they were both through the door, and Bilbo agreed easily. The room they entered was large and surprisingly bright for being underground, made possible by the clear crystal windows that had been carefully carved into the outer walls and the large double doors that led out to a balcony with a breath taking view of Hobbiton in the distance.

                “It certainly is,” Bilbo murmured behind her. The walls were covered with warm tapestries that depicted marketplaces and children playing rather than the battles Bilbo expected. There was a fire already roaring in the ceiling high fireplace with lush, inviting chairs waiting for them.

                “Thank you Balin,” Bilbo told the older dwarf turning in time just to see the beginning of his smile, “It’s perfect.”

                “It was all Thorin lass,” he told her, waving away her thanks, “He wanted you and little Ori to be as comfortable as possible during your stay here.” Bilbo blushed at the reminder of Thorin and made her way to one of the adjoining rooms to settle her sleeping son on the soft bed inside. Balin was still waiting with a slightly anxious look on his face and she was reminded of something the dwarf had briefly mentioned when they’d first arrived.

                “I take it you and Dori have adopted children?” Bilbo asked, causing a blinding grin to cover half the white haired dwarf’s face as he nodded happily.

                “Two,” Balin told her with obvious pride, “With Fíur’s arrest his son and daughter needed seeing to. Kír was old enough to be seen as an adult and decide the fate of his sister, but he chose to join our family instead.”

                “That’s wonderful Balin,” Bilbo told him, honestly thrilled that the two young dwarflings would finally receive the love and care they deserved, “Dori must be thrilled.”

                “He truly is,” Balin told her, unable to keep the smile off of his face, “Having children in the home has breathed new life in the space.”

                “There’s a kitchen Bilbo!” Lobelia suddenly called from somewhere catching Bilbo’s attention and giving the other hobbit an idea.

                “Please join us for dinner,” Bilbo said suddenly, already planning the menu in her mind and calculating the ingredients needed, “Dori and Kír can see Ori again, while we get to know each other better. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing much of each other in the future.”

                “We’d be delighted,” Balin said with another smile, “Shall I have the kitchens send something up?”

                “Oh no,” Bilbo assured him, “Hobbits always cook to welcome new family. Is there a market we can visit?”

                “There’s one in the city center,” Balin told her, “I’ll have one of the guards take you down and carry your purchases.”

                “Thank you,” Bilbo said, “Ori should only be down for about an hour.”

                “I’ll send the guard then,” Balin assured her,  “I look forward to dinner.” As Balin made his way to the door Bilbo suddenly had another idea that she knew would get her in trouble with her cousin, but she couldn’t resist.

                “Invite Dwalin as well,” Bilbo called out before he close the door behind him and the dwarf stuck his head back into the room to give her a sly, knowing smile.

                “And Thorin!” Lobelia called from where she was still exploring the kitchen, making Bilbo spin around in surprise. She had forgotten just how good Lobelia could be about turning things around when she wanted to. The annoyed hobbit glared at her cousin when she emerged from the kitchen just as the door closed behind Balin.

                “That wasn’t nice,” she said. Lobelia just raised an eyebrow and snorted.

                “Neither was inviting Dwalin when I might not be ready to meet with him again,” Lobelia stomped her foot in irritation.

                “This way you get to talk to him a bit before your walk,” Bilbo told her, “With back up if you two can’t come up with a topic of conversation.” Lobelia looked at least a little mollified and only grumbled as she picked up her knitting while Bilbo settled into one of the large armchairs by the fire to start on their shopping list.

                They sat in relative silence for just under an hour, with just the sound of knitting needles clicking and the scratch of Bilbo’s quill before Bilbo stood to make the two hobbits a cup of tea. She stretched as the water heated in a stunning cast iron kettle that Bilbo was quite tempted to filch back to the shire and set some cookies on a solid plate. Once the kettle had whistled, Bilbo transferred the water into a second tea pot so she and Lobelia wouldn’t accidentally burn themselves, or that Ori wouldn’t when he woke up, and set everything onto a heavy wooden tray to carry out.

                “I think we have some visitors,” Lobelia hummed when Bilbo emerged to set the tray down on the small table between the chairs, without pausing in her knitting and Bilbo looked up just in time to see two tiny heads disappear back into the hallway. Bilbo and Lobelia shared a quick, knowing smile at the action.

                “I’m not so sure,” Bilbo said loudly, “though it might be nice. I don’t think we could possibly eat the rest of these cookies by ourselves.”

                “Cookie!” Bilbo looked over just in time to see a tiny, black haired dwarfling get yanked back through the door by another tiny hand, “Ut cookies Fili!” Bilbo and Lobelia stifled their giggles when they heard the answering sigh anyone who deals with someone younger on a regular basis would know.

                “We can always share,” Lobelia called out to whatever children were sneaking around just outside the door.

                “Mama,” Bilbo set her book down with a smile just as the two heads, one blond and one dark haired, peaked around the door with curious and hopeful faces. When she returned with a slightly sleepy Ori the two had wiggled their way inside and were standing by the door, with the younger happily munching on a cookie. Ori immediately squirmed to be let down when he saw the children and the two boys beamed as they raced over to meet him. Lobelia and Bilbo smiled as the three boys examined each other excitedly.

                “At least he may meet some friends while he’s here,”  Lobelia said and both women laughed when the dark haired dwarfling suddenly lunged at Ori, wrapping the startled dwarfling into a hug. Ori let out a surprised squawk and turned wide eyes towards his mother while the blond dwarfling smacked himself on the forehead and shook his head in apparent disbelief at his brother.


	24. A Friendship is Forged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who has waited so patiently for this chapter and I'm sorry it's so short. I'm still being bombarded with school, and unfortunately a very ill relative. I will attempt to keep updating, but I can't make any promises. Just know that this story has not been abandoned. Even if I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it yet. Enjoy!

                Ori continued to blink at the dark haired dwarfling who had latched onto him like a limpet and was chattering away at a speed incomprehensible to the adults in the room. The older, blond dwarfling alternated between munching on a cookie he had gravely accepted from Lobelia with polite thank you and poking his younger brother in the back of the head, sighing when the irritant elicited no response.

                “I thought I sensed my tiny trouble makers in here,” Lobelia and Bilbo turned when they heard the voice at the door and were stunned at the striking dwarf standing just inside the oak door.

                “Mama!” The blond dwarf cried and then frowned, “Kili’s fault.” The darker dwarfling, Kili, didn’t even pause for breath at the arrival of the dwarf that was apparently his mother. Ori turned wide brown eyes on his own mother and Bilbo saw his hands inch towards his tiny knitting needles that were, thankfully, too far away. Recognizing that her little one was swiftly reaching the end of his limited patience, Bilbo set her tea down to rescue her overwhelmed son. In the Shire, Ori was an oddity. He still had his share of friends, due to some of his hobbitish habits, but he was still a dwarf and that to some prejudices. Kili was the first child close to his age that had greeted his so much honest enthusiasm.

                “Hello Kili,” Bilbo said kneeling next to the pair, trio if you count the blond dwarfling who was inching his way over to his mother, “Do you think I can steal back my son now? He just woke up from a nap and he needs his mama cuddles.” Ori nodded enthusiastically, though he patted his new friend absently which made Bilbo smile and Kili detached with a put upon sigh. As soon as he was free, Ori reached tiny, grabby hands up and snuggled into the curve of her neck when she acquiesced.

                “You have a talent,” Bilbo looked up at the dwarf and took her in for the first time. It was instantly clear that she was somehow related to Thorin and Frerin, Dis, “He usually fights more than that when asked to give up something he wants.” She was slightly taller than Frerin, but not quite to Thorin’s height and her coloring was somewhere between the two. At first glance, her hair was as dark as her older brother’s, but when the light caught the shifting strand bolts of fire could be seen. A soft face belied a harsh life, but one where joys could still be found. The soft, delicately adorned beard caught the hobbit off guard, but it suited the dwarrowdam. Overall, she was a handsome woman and if what Thorin claimed about her personality was true, it was easy to see why her husband would be as devoted to her as Thorin claimed. Bilbo shrugged, settling Ori a little higher on her hip in the process.

                “I doubt there is a child out there that can argue with mama cuddles,” she replied. As if to emphasize her point, Kili tugged on his mother’s long tunic and held his arms up.

                “Mama cuddles,” he demanded.  All the women laughed and Kili was quickly scooped up into his mother’s arms, quickly followed by Fili who was looking slightly put out.

                “Would you like to stay for tea Your Highness?” Bilbo asked, “Thorin has told me so much about you.” Bilbo was slightly concerned that Dis would take offence at such an offer, coming from a commoner such as herself, but what she had learned from Thorin gave her hope.

                “That would be lovely,” Dis told her, shuffling around until she could sit comfortably with her children, “And if Thorin has been telling tales, then I must return the favor.” Bilbo grinned brightly and set about making the dwarf a cup of tea.

                “This is my cousin Lobelia,” Bilbo said once they were all settled and Dis’ tea was to her liking, “She came with me as a chaperone and to help care for Ori.”

                “Lovely to meet you Your Highness,” Lobelia said politely. The princess’ eyes sparkled as she took in the slightly prim hobbit.

                “You’re the one who has Dwalin twisted up in knots,” Dis said with a wide smile that only got wider when Lobelia blushed slightly and brushed imaginary crumbs off her skirt.

                “I suppose,” Lobelia said, carefully sipping from her cup. Bilbo grinned at the delighted look on DIs’ face.

                “What would you say if I told you I know everything Thorin and Dwalin did growing up that they would rather you not find out?” Dis asked, leaning forward enough to set her cup down without her two sons losing their grip on her. Lobelia’s smile matched the princess’ in deviousness and Bilbo couldn’t hold her own back, hiding it behind a delicate sip from her cup instead.

                “I’d say we are well on our way to being very good friends Your Highness.”

                “Call me Dis,” the princess replied, “It’s what friends do.” Bilbo had a fleeting moment of sympathy for Thorin and Dwalin, until Dis launched into one of her many stories.


	25. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for everyone who has stuck with this story, despite my utter lack of updating. School became incredibly crazy and I have to admit that I became incredibly uninspired under the stress. It's been a crazy year, but it has been an amazing adventure. I have been allowed to begin treating patients both at my school and during a mission trip to Bolivia, pass all the National Board exams needed to eventually get my licence and made it to three months before my graduation. Luckily, the reduction of stress has allowed me to regain a bit of my creativity in non-medical ways. I hope you all enjoy this latest update, short as it may be, and I will do my absolute best to update more frequently than once a year!

A knock on the door was very nearly covered by the raucous laughter coming from the three females inside. Dis had just finished telling the story of how Dwalin and Thorin had gotten so drunk at their coming of age ceremony, that they’d wound up naked in the main square fountain and singing, poorly, at the top of their lungs. The town guard had had a terrible time rounding the two up, and Thrain had eventually been summoned. The heir to the throne had promptly burst out laughing and promised to make their morning hangover something they would always remember. Luckily, Bilbo had heard the timid knocking and set her tea down to open the door to reveal a sheepish looking Balin.  

“Good afternoon Miss. Baggins,” Balin said, “I hope we’re not interrupting anything. I realize we’re a little early for dinner.” The hobbit glanced behind him to see Dori with an infant sling and an arm wrapped around a familiar young dwarf. With a happy gasp and a giant grin, the hobbit opened the door even wider to  allow the family through.

“Not at all Mr. Balin,” Bilbo assured him, “We were just sitting down to tea with Lady Dis and we’d love more company.”

“We’d be happy to Miss. Baggins,” Dori said as he pushed past his husband and guided his new children in. Bilbo’s cheeks hurt with how wide she was smiling, particularly at the young dwarf with the seven strand braid.

“Your cousin’s sitting in the red chair,” she told him, and watched as his head snapped in that direction. His grin seemed to make the room brighter than the sunlight streaming through the window could. He began to run to the chair, but stopped to look back at the hobbit who had become his cousin’s mother. She nodded and walked the young dwarf over to be reintroduced to his baby cousin.

“Ori,” she said, calling her son’s attention away from the strange dwarf he was squinting at, “This is your cousin Kíur. He’s the one that chose me to be your mama.”

Ori looked at his mother, then back at the dwarf she was calling his cousin, then back at his mother. He lifted his arms overhead in a clear request to be picked up, a request that the hobbit fulfilled.

The toddler was clearly not ready to let go of his mother any time soon, but he set his head down on the hobbit’s shoulder so he could see the other dwarf and waved shyly. Kíur beamed at the sight of his cousin so well taken care of and gave a small wave back, prompting a giggle from his little cousin. Ori looked up at his mother and again at his older cousin before pointing at the older dwarf. Bilbo took a few steps closer to the teenaged dwarf and Ori reached out to run his hands over the unfamiliar face, patting the teenager on the cheek a few times before returning his head to his mother’ shoulder.

“‘I,” Ori said around the thumb still in his mouth. Bilbo was sure that she saw tears in Kíur’s eyes as the adolescent dwarf quickly looked away. Ori may have sensed the same, because he looked at the older dwarf with a frown and held out his arms. Kíur, with a look of surprise on his face, took the toddler and settled him comfortably on his hip.

“No sad,” Ori told the other dwarf seriously as he wrapped his arms as far as he could around Kíur’s shoulders in a toddler hug. Kíur’s immediately wrapped his little cousin.

“Not sad,”  Kíur assured his little cousin with a small bounce and a watery smile, “Very happy.” Ori answered with a smile of his own before pointing toward the table imperiously.

“Cookie,” he demanded, prompting laughter from the adults in the room and cheers from Kili and Fili.


	26. Delights in Dinner and Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG!!!!!! It's been ten months since I've updated! For all of you who have been patiently and loyally waiting, thank you soooo much! Since the last update I have completed my doctorate and am now a practicing Doctor of Chiropractic. YAYYYY!! I have also been working on my first original book as I was having a little trouble getting back into the flow of this story. I am hoping to finish it soon [and not making you guys wait another ten months], and while I have ideas for another Thorin/Bilbo story, I'm not sure if I'm going to post a new story anytime soon. Please let me know what you think

              Thorin and Dwalin both paused outside of the imposing oak that led to the room housing their Ones, confused by the amount of voices inside. They shared a particularly nervous glance when they hear the familiar laugh of Dis, and wondered just how embarrassed they would be by the end of the night. Gathering up his normally insurmountable courage, Thorain knocked and waited to see who would welcome them in. Unfortunately, it was his sister and judging by her smirk, she knew exactly what the two warrior dwarves were thinking.

              “You’re early,” She told them, the smirk not dropping from her lips, “Eager are we?” Thorin glared at his younger sister and huffed.

              “The council ended early,” His news had the effect of dimming his sister’s smirk slightly, “I thought I inform Bilbo of the decision.” Dis nodded sharply and moved aside so the dwarf king could enter, closely followed by his bodyguard who was unconsciously plumping his mohawk. His hand snapped back down when he realized what he was doing, while the princess smothered her laughter by biting her lip.

              “T’orin!” Three young voices echoed off the stone walls and Thorin’s legs were immediately covered by scrambling toddlers. The dwarf king reached down and, after some fumbling and nearly dropping Kili who wouldn’t stop squirming, managed to pick up all three boys.

              “Mahal,” Thorin groaned as he shifted his weight to hold all three boys, “They’re multiplying.” The boys giggled as the king shifted them around in his arms, especially as Fili decided that he wanted to sit on his uncle’s shoulders and started climbing.

              “None of that now you rascals,” Dwalin playfully growled as he plucked Fili off the king’s arm like one might a wayward kitten and plopped him on his own shoulders. Blushing fiercely when Lobelia looked at him with a calculating expression and punching the king in the arm when he snickered.

              “Not while he’s hold my babies,” Dis told him as she took her oldest, who frowned at the loss of his perch, and slugged Dwalin hard enough to make him wince. He rubbed the side of his arm as he shuffled closer to his One who, tutted sympathetically, but told him he deserved it.

              “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Bilbo announced to the room in general as she stood to make her way to the kitchen, “I’ve had the stew simmering for the past few hours, so it should be just about done.” Thorin took an aborted step towards the kitchen, the squirming children in his arms proving to be to unwieldy for him to control enough to force himself forward.

              “You two are not helping,” Thorin told the two remaining toddlers, and was greeted by wide and gap-toothed smiles. The battle-hardened king could resist the adorable sight and pulled the pair closer for a dwarven snuggle, “and that is not fair.”

              “That smell’s not fair,” Dwalin grumbled as the rich scent of the stew started to permeate the air in the room.

              “That is the secret Baggins stew,” Lobelia told them as she emerged from the kitchen carrying freshly baked dinner rolls, “No one has managed to get the recipe out of a Baggins in over a hundred years.”

              “Birth or marriage,” Bilbo announced as she carried a pot that Thorin was convinced that he would have difficulty carrying when it was full, “It’s the only way to get the recipe.” Thorin was having to hold Dwalin back from face planting directly into the bubbling mix, while Balin shook his head at his brother’s antics.

              “I do apologize that you have that lump for an uncle,” He told his new son, who just continued to beam while surrounded by the family atmosphere.

              “I don’t mind,” Kíur told him, earning an approving grin from the burly Captain of the Guard.

              “We usually only make it after harvests or when someone needs to build strength after illness or injury,” Bilbo told them, “and it seemed appropriate with what has been happening recently.” She smiled at Kíur and Dori, who had a sleeping Sir strapped to his chest.

              “Alright everyone,” Lobelia announced, slapping Dwalin’s hand with a ladle when the dwarf reached for the rolls, “Take a seat.” The room was quickly filled with quiet muttering as food was dished out and groans of delight when the dwarves took their first bites of the stew.

              “This is absolutely delicious,” Dori said as he ate, careful to avoid dripping onto the sleeping bundle on his chest.

              “Thank you Dori,” Bilbo said after daintily swallowing a bite of her own dinner, “I’ll make sure to show you how to make it on your next trip to the Shire.” Dori was visibly floored by the simple statement and nodded mutely. The rest of the dwarves were silent as they contemplated the enormity that such a simple statement could have. It established that Dori was family and that the entire Ri/Lin family was welcome at Bag-End.

              The rest of the meal was spent in relative silence, or rather as much silence as you can get with three toddlers, an infant and a teenager. Said children slowly began drooping as the hours went by and eventually Dis excused herself to haul her two off to bed, despite sleepy protests. Bilbo soon followed by carrying a fully asleep, and drooling Ori, into the next room. Soon, only Thorin, Dwalin, Lobelia and Bilbo were left. They sipped tea and avoided the unspoken truth in the room, that soon there would be a trial against a killer of kin.

              “The council has decided that the trial should be tomorrow,” Thorin finally told the two hobbits when they both had their tea cups settled on the small oak table in font of them, “They feel that, in light of his multiple escape attempts, it would be better to have it in haste.”

              “Do I have to be there?” Bilbo asked, her voice just a little shaky, “and for the…” She trailed off, unable to say what was spinning around in her head.

              “For the trial, yes,” Thorin told her gently, “But not for the execution.” He felt his heart skip at Bilbo’s flinch at the word, but he knew she understood the enormity of the situation, “I’ve explained to the council that it would not be something considered normal in The Shire and they’ve agreed that there is no reason to put you through that.

              “Thank you,” Bilbo told him. Thorin exchanged a glance with Dwalin, who knew what the next part of the tradition entailed.

              “There is one more thing,” The king hedged, “It is traditional that a member of the wounded person’s family stands guard over the accused. However-”

              “I will be standing guard,” Lobelia stated before Thorin could continue, “I am a blood relation to Bilbo and godmother to little Ori. I believe that will satisfy the familial requirement.”

              “It is also traditional to be armed,” Dwalin pointed out smiling, like a besotted idiot in Thorin’s opinion, when the hobbit turned her gaze on him, “Do you have a weapon?”

              “I have something that will be appropriate,” Lobelia smirked and Thorin had to admit that a slight chill skittered down his spine like a mouse might.

              “Very well,” Thorin said, “One of the guards will fetch you for court in the morning. Good evening.” Thorin and Dwalin both stood with slight bows to the two females in the room, Dwalin’s slightly lower than the King’s, before making their way out into the hall.

               “That went better than I expected.”

               “Shut up Dwalin.”


	27. Time for Trials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE BE WARNED THAT THERE IS FOUL LANGUAGE AHEAD

              The courtroom was like nothing Bilbo had ever seen before, not that it was entirely unexpected as she had never seen the inside of a dwarven stronghold before. True, there were smails in the Shire where dwarves lived with their hobbit spouses that had a definite dwarven flair, but they were still true hobbit dwellings.

              The walls were lined with pillars that led to intricately carved arched ceilings that Bilbo had to squint to see. The cavernous feeling of the room was only emphasized by the echoes of the quiet muttering of the dwarves around them. Bilbo was sure that if she and Lobelia were the only two in the room the brushing of their longer than usual skirts would be as loud as an army bellowing on the battlefield.

              “Big,” Ori muttered around his pacifier as the guards who had fetched them from their rooms led them through a curious crowd.

              “Yes dear,” Lobelia said, “Very big.” Bilbo rolled her eyes when she realized her cousin’s eyes were glued to Dwalin’s back. He was standing on the royal dais where the royal family would be spending the trial, his back to the rest of the room while the council filed into curved, two tiers seating boxes on either side.

              “I was told you are the family champion,” The new guard who spoke to Lobelia was wearing the same insignia as the pennants hanging from the walls, “There are weapon racks available if you would like to follow me.”

              “I am perfectly well armed thank you,” Lobelia told him politely, she had always had a soft spot for the younger ones, “But if you could show me to where I will be standing for this event I would be very grateful.” With a quick nod, the guard led Lobelia to the defendant stand while another led Bilbo and Ori to a witness stand where Bilbo was happy to see someone had the foresight to set up a small play area for the toddler. Bilbo wasn’t sure how long the trial would take, and she also didn’t know how long Ori would be willing to sit quietly without something to distract him. Just as Bilbo got Ori settled with the provided soft toys, the loud slamming of a staff on the ground brought the noise in the hall to a halt.

              “Now begins the trail of Fíur, Son of Tíur, Lord in The Iron Hills. Accused of the slaughter of his own kin, the attempted murder of an innocent, and the egregious abuse of innocents. Bring the accused forward to face the line of Durin.” The crier trailed off as the large doors creaked as they were pulled open by three dwarves each.  Fíur was shackled heavily to prevent escape, but not so much that it impaired his ability to keep time with the guards surrounding him. Bilbo shuddered at the thought of Ori having to be even remotely close to the chained dwarf and turned her attention fully on Ori, fully content to focus on him until she was required by the court. It worked almost too well, because the next thing she knew the court erupted into a thunderous uproar.

              “What happened?” She asked the nearest guard, who was looking as furious as the rest of the crowd sounded.

              “Dwarves have harsh views on violence against innocents,” the dwarf told her, “and Fíur’s former son testified about the attempted murder of your son and his abuse at Fíur’s hands.” Bilbo frowned.

              “I didn’t know Kíur was here,” Bilbo admitted, then frowned when she realized she and Ori were the only ones in the witness box, “I thought we were the only witnesses today.”

              “Witnesses are kept separate during court in case there is an attempt on their lives,” the guard admitted, then hurried to continue when Bilbo looked a little green at the idea, “But it is more for tradition in these days. The King passed a law that means an automatic death sentence if a defendant or their supporters make an attempt on a witness.” Bilbo nodded and peaked over the edge of the box, holding back a snicker when she saw her cousin.

              Lobelia was sitting off to the side of Fíur, who looked slightly affronted whenever he caught sight of the completely uninterested hobbit. It was almost as if he was offended that a hobbit was considered to be one of his guards.

              “Stand forward Ori and guardian,” the crier called, and Bilbo pulled Ori away from his toys to stand so that he would be visible. She was slightly reassured when the guards closed rank slightly around her to keep any direct route to her cut off.

              “Mistress Baggins,” Bilbo turned her attention to the dwarf who had been conduction the trial, and was a little embarrassed that she couldn’t remember if he’d been introduced, “I will do my best to keep your part brief so that you can return to your rooms quickly. I know little ones have a very limited amount of patience for things that are not sleep, play or food.” A titter went up from the parents in the crowd and Bilbo smiled at the dwarf.

              “Thank you,” she told him.

              “T’ank ‘ou,” Ori parroted, causing an uproar of laughter from the surrounding mass and a scowl from Fíur.

               “Is it true that Ori was brought to you by Kíur, formerly son of Fíur approximately six years ago,” The prosecuting dwarf asked when the laughter died down.

              “Yes it is,” She confirmed, “My family and I were returning home from Bree when Kíur found me just off the road where I was gathering flowers.”

              “Did he impart to you what had happened to the infant’s birth parents?’

              “Yes. He told me that they had been murdered by his father and had ordered him to, I believe the words were ‘get rid of’ Ori.” Her words were followed by quiet muttering from the council and spectators. It was one thing to hear the accusations from Kíur, but Bilbo was another thing entirely. Bilbo had little to no knowledge of dwarven law, and therefore was seen as the perfect witness as she has no knowledge as to how her testimony would be credited.

              “And how did Kíur appear when you met him?” The prosecuting dwarf had to raise his vice slightly to be heard over the noise of the crowd.

              “He was visibly shaken,” Bilbo told him, “He was clutching Ori as if someone was going to be snatched away at any moment, which I guess was actually a possibility. When he realized we were hobbits, he asked us to keep Ori hidden in the Shire.”

              “Thank you for your honesty Mistress Baggins, you are excused from the court.” Bilbo nodded and started to head out after giving the council and royal family a small curtsy.

              “I will not be made a mockery!!!!!” Fíur suddenly shouted out, making Ori jump and cry at the loud echo, “That little rat has no right to my fortune or title! He is the son of a money grubbing, bastard whore who should have contented herself with spreading her legs for a few coppers. She tainted my bloodline and that abomination should by slaughter like the rat he is.” He pointed fiercely at Ori, despite the fact that there was a row of very, angry and armed dwarves between them.

              “Silence!” Thorin bellowed, unsheathing his sword and taking a few steps forward on the dais towards Fíur.

              “I will not!” Fíur continued, drawing a shocked gasp from the surrounding dwarves, “This whore has no right in a dwarven court. She and my ungrateful, traitorous offspring will feel the blade of my axe in their bellies and watch as I put that rat on a pike like-” Fíur’s words were drowned out by sharp gasps of shock from the surrounding crowd, who couldn’t imagine using language that foul against a female of any race or the treat of violence in such a way.

              “Enough,” A shrill voice shouted, followed by a piercing whistle Bilbo was very familiar with. The noise came to an abrupt end as the majority of the dwarves slapped their hands over their ears. All eyes turned towards the previously quiet and demure hobbit standing guard near Fíur.

Lobelia stomped forward, mangling the foot of a guard who didn’t get out of her way fast enough, and slammed the pointy end of her knitting needle into the meat of Fíur’s thigh. There was a stunned silence as the gathered dwarves absorbed the fact that such a prim and proper hobbit woman had just stabbed a dwarven warrior with something as seemingly innocent as a knitting needle. Fíur glanced at the hobbit, then at his leg, once again at the hobbit, before finally settling on the long iron needle protruding from his thigh and began to scream.

“That’s what you get for trying to harm my precious little nephew,” Lobelia huffed, ignoring the cursing dwarf, and flouncing off.

              “You wretched little bitch,” Fíur bit out as he wrentched the needle out of his leg. It was quickly confiscated by one of the guards near him that still had some of her wits about her. Lobelia froze immediately in her exit and turned slowly with a gaze so murderous that a few of the dwarves scrambled out of the way as if it could do them physical damage.

              “Did you say something?” She asked in a deceptively sweet voice, one that Bilbo was all too familiar with having heard it many times before Lobelia proceeded to verbally eviscerate her opponent. Fíur snarled, ignoring the blood starting to drip down his leg from the knitting needles.

              “I said-,” he was cut short when Lobelia whipped her heaviest cast iron frying pan from the folds of her skirts and swung it with all her might. There was a sickening crunch and the volatile dwarf collapsed

              “That was quite fun,” Lobelia said with a bright smile, “I do believe I will like it here.” Fíur groaned with a twitch and Lobelia immediately hit him with her pan again. With a slight huff she slid her stool closer to the unconscious dwarf and sat, crossing her ankles primly beneath her skirts. Her cast iron pan was resting on her lap, handle in her right hand, ready to be slammed into thick dwarven skull at the barest hint of consciousness.

              “You may continue,” She told the prosecutor sweetly.

              "Where was she keeping that?" One of the guards asked softly, eyeing the rather large pan that Lobelia was carrying with frightening ease.

              “She’s perfect,” Dwalin breathed with sense of awe in his voice, while Balin just rolled his eyes.

              “Only my brother would find violence arousing,” He grumbled, only to have his husband whack him on the arm and tilt his head at their blushing son. The rest of the room just seemed to still be in a state of shock. Even Thorin was repeatedly opening and closing his mouth as he first tried to say something, but failed to actually form words.


End file.
